


Missing Memories (Please Remember Me)

by DarkAssassin0927



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield Have a Good Relationship, Billy Hargrove Has Powers, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Brotherly Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson, Child Neglect, Dustin Henderson Is the Best, Good Babysitter Steve Harrington, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Not Beta Read, Not Nancy friendly but not bashing either, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Protective Dustin Henderson, Self-Harm, Steve Harrington Has Powers, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Suicidal Thoughts, There's happy stuff too, We Die Like Men, but don't worry, wow there's a lot of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24021847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAssassin0927/pseuds/DarkAssassin0927
Summary: Steve was good at pretending he was fine. That there wasn't a gaping ten year gap in his memories, that his parents were never home, that he never understood what the teacher was talking about. That didn't matter when there was a monster from an alternate dimension trying to eat the kid who had somehow become his little brother.Then came Billy Hargrove. Why does he seem so familiar?...Billy was good at pretending he had control. That he hadn't spent three years of his life in a government lab. That he wasn't fucked up in the head with a shitty home life. That didn't matter when his little sister kept coming home with bruises from some asshole at school.Then they moved to Hawkins. Why does Harrington remind him of 005?OrThe Steve and Billy have powers fic that I wanted to write because there aren't enough of them!(With angst. Lots and lots of angst :P )
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Billy Hargrove & Steve Harrington, Eleven | Jane Hopper & Steve Harrington, Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler, Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson
Comments: 51
Kudos: 260





	1. The years following freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is my first Stranger Things fic! Please review and tell me what you think!

Chapter 1 - The Years Following Freedom

Steve had a problem. 

He was good at pretending that everything was fine, that there wasn't a gaping ten year gap in his memories, that his parents were never home, that he never understood what the teacher was talking about. He was good at pretending. 

His parents told him that he was very sick before _(before when?)_ and that it's perfectly normal to have a few _(ten years)_ missing memories.

"Don't think about it Steven."

"Don't bring it up again Steven."

"It's perfectly _normal_ Steven."

So, he never told them about the nightmares or the dreams of cold walls and men in white lab coats. Never breathed a word about the feelings of terror whose memory slipped away with the sunrise. The feeling of unease that lingered throughout the day, leaving him on edge for hours following.

He was twelve when he first went to school and the only way he could describe it was being thrown onto an entirely new planet. It was overwhelming. The amount sheer of people that walked the corridors and the noise they made was chaos. Thousands of new and unfamiliar words fell through the air, it was as if he only half understood the language spoken around him.

On his first day he didn't say very much at all. All of the other children had known each other in some way or another since childhood and there was something about the new kid which said _stay away_. The teachers paired him up with a boy named Tommy Hagan and Steve supposed that had they paired him up with someone else, he would've turned out very differently.

* * *

Tommy was the only one who would talk to him, completely ignoring _(or not noticing)_ the strangeness that was Steve Harrington.

"Home schooled?" He asked in his prepubescent judgemental tone.

"Yes." That's what his parents had told him so it must be true _(even when something about it felt like a lie)._

"Huh. What's that like?"

"I don't… know?"

"You're weird," Tommy started shaking his head before coming to an epiphany, "Hey that's probably why you don't know any music or games! Geez dude that sucks."

"Dude?"

"Shit. I forgot you had posh parents. Okay so vocabulary as well apparently."

Steve just looked at him expectantly.

"Right... we've got to fix that because Steve that's just creepy." Tommy said referring to his blatant staring.

"Okay."

"And work on your general knowledge 'cause dude your lack of knowledge is just sad man. How do you not know what the Looney Tunes are? Hey! I could be your mentor or something."

So, Tommy took it upon himself to explain the world to the weird new kid and for that Steve was thankful. Even if his social advice was sometimes flawed.

* * *

Steve treasured his friend, even if he was needlessly cruel to everyone _(including Steve himself)_. However, he never trusted him enough to tell him about the empty house and crippling loneliness or about the nightmares and missing memories. There was a simple reason why; Tommy was a bully.

He enjoyed tearing people down, mocking their failings and latching onto a weakness until his target cried for him to stop. Tommy cared little for his studies, only doing enough to pass each class, safe in the knowledge that his father would give him a job after school was through.

Whenever Steve said something strange or did anything weird, Tommy would rub it in his face over and over until he did something else that was worth teasing.

_Spoilt._

_Trouble maker._

_Condescending attitude._

The teachers whispered in the staff room and somehow Steve _felt_ those words when he walked past them in the corridors.

Tommy was a troublemaker, Tommy was a bad student, Tommy was rude and a bully. It was easy to slip on a mask which complimented Tommy's personality. 

Sometimes Steve felt as though sometimes he could _sense_ the disgust of some of his peers when he walked by them, _feel_ their distress when Tommy drilled into someone with his words and he stood by and watched. He knew this person he was becoming was ugly but _(he was afraid to stop, afraid to lose a friend)_ he didn’t know how to be anything else and still have someone to talk to. 

Not when being himself turned people away and Steve wanted more than anything to stop being alone.

* * *

He had a nanny for the first year back home _(home?)_ and she was a clinical sort of person like the doctors at the lab. _(Lab? What Lab?)_ She didn't smile often and she completed her tasks robotically. School was so hard and the homework was always extremely difficult. He'd sit there for hours trying to figure out what he had to do and his marks were abysmal. It would frustrate him, remind him that he was stupid because all the other children understood the work. Just not him.

"Don't be a nuisance Steven."

_So, he didn't ask for help._

"He's a bit stupid isn't he?"

_Teachers and peers aren't as quiet as they think._

"He's lazy and doesn't apply himself."

_An angry father and disgusted mother._

As the months passed Steve stopped being interesting at school and he soon became one of the crowd. He figured out how to get by, passing or failing, it didn't matter when the teachers thought you were lazy.

He still hung out with Tommy, slowly filled his head with knowledge that most children knew without thinking, like what ice cream was for example. He talked to more kids and learned their names but never really became close friends with any of them.

(Later he would wonder if he was really friends with Tommy either.)

* * *

The nanny started to teach him how to cook, how to clean. Steve liked these lessons because at least this was something he could do, something that he wasn't terrible at. Looking back, he should've known what was coming.

She taught him what to buy at the shops, what to eat, who to call when the boiler broke down or when the television stopped working. How to manage his money so he didn't run out and that he should buy warm things in the winter and get new shoes when they get too small. She took him to buy a bicycle that you could strap bags onto the back of and taught him to ride it. She told him what to do if he got locked out of the house and showed him how to drive the car that his parent's left in the driveway. It didn't matter that he was too short, a couple of boxes and string fixed the height issue. She told him to get a driver’s licence when he turned sixteen and not to drive again before then.

When school ended and the summer holidays hit and results came out, Steve felt like he might cry there and then in front of Tommy. He had tried so so hard to catch up with classwork, to understand what was going on and yet he still came last in _all_ his academic subjects. A small part of him said that he should ask for help but there were two reasons why he ever did;

Firstly, he remembered Tommy laughing at anyone who asked a lot of questions in class and Steve knew he had a lot of questions. He didn't want to lose his friend because they thought he was a nerd.

Secondly, some of his questions just seemed so silly _(embarrassed - he realised later on)_ and most of the time he was so lost that he didn't know where to start.

Tommy treated him like he was an idiot and laughed at his inability to read properly and that _hurt_. But then Tommy sat him down and comforted him saying that he wasn't good at class either and that was… nice. _(Steadfastly ignoring the part of his mind which said that Tommy only did this to feel better about himself)._

The second academic year started and Steve once again felt as if he was drowning for more than one reason.

He had stopped calling his parents after the first few months with just the nanny and them not coming home. Always ending up being transferred to their secretaries and leaving messages he wasn't even sure they were receiving.

(A part of him wasn't even sure if he missed them. Not when he couldn't even remember them.)

When he turned thirteen his parents deposited a large amount of cash into his account and told him over the phone that he was a teenager now. That same day his nanny packed her bags and left the house. Left him without a note or a goodbye. Steve was left alone in a far too large house with a list on the fridge and fear in his heart.

"If anyone asks Steven, your Mother and I are on a business trip or at work. Is that understood?" Steve nodded _(It wasn't an unusual request, right?)_.

Money kept appearing in his account like clockwork, far too much to spend before more appeared. He sent up a separate account, something his parents weren't aware of. They had already forgotten his birthday, parents evenings, his basketball matches and countless other dates. Who's to say they wouldn't forget to send money to him as well? So, he saved as much as he could there.

Just in case.

* * *

Constantly playing catch up at school with his studies. Navigating the complicated social climate of the school when you had shit all social awareness or understanding. Missing memories and elusive nightmares. An empty home and absent parents. Struggling, constantly struggling. Trying to cook, clean and buy necessities; new clothes because the old ones are a bit short at the sleeves _(He just noticed)_ , food because the fridge is empty, detergent because he needs to clean the bathroom, lightbulbs because they just went out in the hall and he knows he can figure out how to change them somehow.

He'll manage, he always does.

Getting the flu was the worst. Reminding himself to drink water and eat food when there's no one there to help. Remembering that the jumpers he wore last year are too small and he needs to buy new ones or else he'll freeze in Hawkins' icy winter. Waking in a cold sweat from pain that he couldn't remember with no one there to comfort him. It was a different type of torture and it hurt constantly.

Cycling to the shops to buy groceries was something he didn't like or hate. When the road was icy and the strapped bags made it hard to balance left him with plenty of scrapes. The first time he went with money in his pocket and a list of things to buy, the lady behind the counter smiled and called him;

 _"Such a good boy"_ and that his _"parents must be proud."_

He just smiled _(because that's what you were supposed to do)_ and said _"thank you for the compliment"_ and she called him _"charming"._ He assumed that was a good thing.

Once he broke his arm on one of these trips, luckily it was a clean break mid-shaft. The wheels skid and the next thing he knew, he was on the ground, a snapped humerus in his left arm and the fresh produce over the ground. It hurt, fuck it hurt but at that moment, all he could think was: Get home. The thought of going to a hospital didn't even cross his mind.

He hissed through his teeth, it was dangerous to show weakness. _(Dangerous?)_

Painfully, he twisted his way out of his jacket and tried not to jar the bruised flesh and precarious break ( _fracture_ his mind corrected). Bending his arm and placing his left elbow into the hood, he somehow managed to tie the two sleeves around his shoulder in a makeshift sling. Then picking up what had spilled out of the bags, he pulled up his bike (which was thankfully not damaged) and pushed it back home. Steadfastly ignoring the pain.

-Not noticing a small girl watching him from her window with an odd look on her face-

Steve wasn't entirely sure why his home had a first aid kit that would make a hospital surgeon proud but he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. He left his bike and bags propped up against the steps to his house and resolved to pack them away once he had a cast on. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, he gently took his arm out of his 'sling' and decided that it was easier to cut off his t-shirt than attempt to pull over his head like he had somehow managed with his jumper.

Opening a bottle of iodine, he poured some on a piece of white gauze and wiped down around his shoulder all the way down to past his elbow. Pressing down on the bruised flesh hurt but the area needed to be sterilised, even if there were no cuts. Slipping a loose elastic sock of sorts over and past his elbow, Steve began wrapping a protective layer of gauze around his upper arm. Next, he pulled out a roll of fiber-glass cast... stuff (he wasn't sure what it was actually called) and placed it in a bowl of water he had prepared first. Once it was damp, he twisted it around the gauze and over his elbow, and up his arm, over and over, reapplying water to keep it stuck together. (Somehow, he knew that since the bone wasn't out of place, all he had to do was keep it from moving).

While the temporary cast dried, he began cleaning out the gravel from the scrapes on his face and hands. Tired and in pain, he swallowed some painkillers and went to his room to get a loose t-shirt, arm securely in a sling.

That evening he sat alone, eating a simple pasta with canned sauce in the dining room of his too _big_ , too _empty_ house. Wishing that there was someone there to explain the hollow age in his chest that wasn't the result of any physical injury. It was going to be a hard six weeks with one arm.

(Later he'd wonder how the hell he knew what to do.)

* * *

His fourteenth birthday came and went without celebration and he silently marked the anniversary of a year alone. Feeling no pride in the fact he was able to look after himself for the entirety of 365 days without an adult by his side. He didn't have a reason to, he knew other kids didn't live like him but Steve never really realised how unsafe his situation was.

Tommy started talking about girls and Steve was once again left floundering blindly because he thought he finally had a good understanding of well… everything. But no, there was something called _love_ that he didn't have a clue what to do with.

Day in day out, he was nearly fifteen before he saw his parents again. They came home without warning, complained about the state of the house (it was clean, it was neat, there was _nothing_ to complain about), made him stand while they ate and lectured him on responsibility and respect. His father hit him for his poor grades and his mother walked past him the next morning as if he wasn't even worth acknowledging.

They left two days later with a couple thousand more in his account and a disgusted sneer as a farewell.

That's when Steve decided there must be something wrong with him.

* * *

Mandatory vaccinations knocked something loose in his head that he didn't know was there. He had his first panic attack then and it felt like he was drowning. Memories of endless needles and IV's pumping god knows what into his veins. Pain and fear and _coldcoldcold_ people. 

The nurse asked if he wanted to call his parents.

_No. That was the worst possible idea. His Father would be disappointed. That was dangerous._

Tommy teased him for months afterwards.

(Panic attacks became familiar after that, far too familiar)

* * *

The end of middle school had him dressing with more thought about his appearance and he started styling his hair. It wasn't until he was sixteen that he felt like he finally understood how to date a girl without acting like a complete weirdo. Dating was important apparently.

He got his driver's licence just like the Nanny had told him three years ago, the memories of driving still fresh in his mind. He used the BMW in his garage and was glad of it because cycling with groceries was difficult.

Tommy relished attention and cared little for much else. He wanted to be popular. So when he found out that Steve's parents were out of town a lot for work, he immediately worked on convincing Steve to throw parties as often as possible. Weed and alcohol became less foreign all of a sudden.

Steve didn't hate the parties to his surprise. While he didn't know everyone there and they were a bit expensive (not that that was a problem, he was good at reducing his living costs and had plenty of money) at least they filled his house with sound. At least he felt just a little less alone. However, clean up wasn't ever going fun, especially when some drunk idiot decided to get a bit frisky in one of the guest rooms.

Life went on though. He was still alone, he still felt the disappointment of his teachers and the poor opinion of those around him. By this point Steve felt he could successfully blend into the crowd. He had developed a taste in music, bought posters and gone on dates. He threw parties and was popular. He still didn't know anything about movies and television but he had picked up some new hobbies.

High school was a completely different ball game but Tommy was there, promising parties and keeping up with the trends. Steve joined the basketball team in both middle and high school and he turned out to be pretty good at it too. He got labelled a jock due to his grades but that was fine, at least there was something he was good at.

Things were okay, even if a small part of him looked at the split lip and bruises his father gave him and felt as if he somehow deserved it. 

Things were okay, even if sometimes he felt like picking up a knife and drawing little lines into his arms (hidden by arm bands or easy excuses). 

Things were okay, even if the isolation and loneliness was crushing. 

Things were okay, at least he was free. _(Free from what?)_

_Free from who?_

Why couldn't he remember?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay Chapter 1 done! I've got a lot planned so that'll be exciting to write. \\(^o^)/  
> Please review/comment! Kudos to everyone!


	2. Time Flies By but still I Can't Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is here! It took longer to write than I hoped but it has arrived so yay!

There was no personality in Steve's home _(House. Not home - he later realised.)_ It was a picture-perfect place. People loved it because it was modern and grand with stylish staircases and a pool. To Steve it was clinical and cold.

Nothing changed over the years. Pictures weren't added to the walls, wall paper wasn't changed or replaced, most of the furniture around the building wasn't ever used. Guest rooms and spare spaces were only ever entered to dust once every few weeks.

His Father's office, his Mother's office. They were out of bounds. Only these rooms Steve would never enter, even to clean. They were also two of the only rooms that sparked fear in his heart. _(Two of…? What other rooms were there?)_

Even his room lacked personality. A few posters here and there, appropriate clothing in the closet - formal and casual. A cassette player on his desk and a radio in the corner. Record player by the window with a shelf full of vinyl. But nothing else to suggest it was his.

It was too neat, too picturesque, too empty.

* * *

Drawing wasn't difficult for Steve Harrington. He excelled in art class and only pretended to hate it when Tommy laughed. In high school, he chose it as one of his senior electives _(a spark of joy filled him at the thought of having more time to paint)_ and again people laughed (after all, why on Earth would Steve 'The Hair' Harrington choose such a _pathetic_ subject?)

"Hey! Might as well choose something I'll get a decent mark in." _("I like art!" He wanted to shout, but Tommy might drop him if he did and he was still his only friend. Popularity didn't give you friends, it gave you attention.)_

Yet even as he pretended to dislike the 'girly' subject, he still bought paper and pencils, invested money in canvases and paints because art was fun, art made sense. It wasn't long before Steve realised that he couldn't do everything he wanted without making a mess, a mess that might not be cleaned in time for Tommy to arrive unannounced at his door. So, he made space.

The attic could only be accessed through a dropping ladder on the ceiling of the second floor corridor and there wasn't really anything up there, nor was there a reason for his parents to go up there either. He had had enough lectures over the phone to know that his passion for art wouldn't be well accepted. Not with his academic subjects scoring such low marks. He had kept enough secrets from his parents already, it wouldn't be hard to add a few more when they returned _(if they would return)._

So, Steve at the age of fourteen, cleaned out the dusty and darkened space and made it _his._

Surprisingly there were a lot of windows and the ceiling was quite lofty. A fresh coat of white paint and suddenly the room was so much brighter. White light that sometimes sparkled with gold, filtered through the skylights. Beams of wood crossed below the slanted roof, just high enough that there was enough space to walk underneath.

Steve bought shelves from an old man who lived across town and they were kind enough to drive them over for him. Pulling out a tool kit from the garage, he spent the weekend taking them apart and carrying the pieces up into the attic where they were reassembled.

Tables, stools, easels, shelves, (even a few bean bags) somehow found its way up into what he now called _his Art room._ Empty corners filled with both blank and colourful canvases, splatters of paint on the floor and walls creating a wonderful sort of chaos. The room had life, and every time Steve was there, he felt just a little less empty.

He could get lost there, only realising hours had passed when the daylight started to get too dim and the lights had to be turned on. Steve would experiment with anything that caught his eye; papier mache, clay, water colours, pastels, ink, oil and acrylic. Sometimes stumbling to the bathroom well after midnight, tired and hungry with glue in his hair and paint on his face.

It was perfect. It was his. It felt like _home._

(And if Steve climbed onto the roof to clean the skylights and balanced on the wooden beams to paint the ceiling at the age of fourteen because no one was there to tell him it was dangerous, then who was there to say otherwise?)

Too many nights he would find himself unable to sleep, waking from half remembered nightmares of steel tables and bloodied floors. So he'd draw, draw everything and anything he thought of. Immortalised in grey paint and red ink. Cementing those broken dreams into something tangible before they were forgotten. _(Memories -_ his mind whispered)

* * *

Nancy was something else. She was kind and smart ( _and pretty_ , he realised a bit later). Something about her caught his eye on the very first day of his second year and from that point he couldn't help but notice her. Junior Nancy Wheeler, with her bright, brown eyes and endearing smile. It was the talk of the school, King Steve falling for first year goody two shoes. So naturally he asked her out.

_(He's a dick Nancy._

_He's popular for a reason Nancy._

_He'll break your heart Nancy._

_You're too good for him Nancy.)_

She said no.

Words spun out of empty air and based off what they saw to be the truth. And it lit something dark and bitter in his heart. Because why not? Were those words wrong? Was that all he was? That was all he had ever been seen to be after all.

But Steve didn't give up. He started being kinder. He flattered her and wrote her little notes filled with compliments. He tried to be better because yeah, he might not be good enough for a girl like Nancy Wheeler but that didn't mean he couldn't try right?

Tommy and Carol didn't get it. They thought he was going soft, changing who he was for someone who didn't want him. In a way they weren't wrong but that didn't make them right either. When Steve saw Nancy Wheeler, he saw a chance to be something other than a mistake, something other than freak. _(An aberration to horrid that even his parents couldn't stand the sight of him.)_

Nancy looked at him like he was a real person, like he was actually there. Like there was something to be seen beyond the face of a popular high school jock. And for the first time in his life, Steve _wanted_ to date a girl. Not because they were popular or because they were pretty but because they were good. She made him want to be good too.

* * *

Steve's dreams. He dreams of a little boy with a shaved head and the numbers 006 tattooed into his left wrist. He dreams of sharing silent conversations, filled with secrets and wordless understanding. He dreams of being taken away, screaming against the grips of his captors, bruising his bony wrists. He dreams of a hundred faces in all stages of healing, speaking thousands of words through their _FearAngerPain._

He dreams of screaming until he spits blood. He dreams of machines and black vats of water. He dreams of 006 radiating anger while he shakes through the aftermath that electricity has on your body. Steve Harrington dreams and dreams and dreams.

He dreams. He wakes up. He forgets and screams through the endless silence of his house. He paints and draws in frantic strokes, desperate to capture the moments his mind is determined to forget. Sunlight slipping over the horizon and through the trees. He stays there until all he has left is the phantom pains and a thousand pages filled with the same images.

Steve dreams and forgets everything but the bare skeleton of past events. Forgets 006, forgets the doctors, forgets the years spent being forced to fight until his ears bled.

Everything but the one thing and it stays with a crystal clarity unlike any memory he's ever had. A thousand blue's captured in a million ways on paper, or fabric, on canvas.

Blue eyes that saw _him._

 _Please,_ Steve begged to the stars, _let me remember them._

* * *

For one month he tried to charm the girl named Nancy Wheeler. It took a month but it finally worked and Steve was over the moon. He took her on dates and bought her flowers, tried to show his sincerity and kissed her with more care than he had kissed anyone before. She didn't go to his parties and kept a curfew but that didn't matter to him.

There were many things that Steve liked about Nancy but his favourite was how she smiled. Somehow Steve _knew,_ not in his heart but in some _other_ way, with deep rooted certainty that Nancy was sincere in her smiles. And he knew that there was no ulterior motive she had for dating Steve Harrington. No want for popularity, no want for his money or his influence, she never bragged that Harrington was hers and she didn't change who she was for what people thought he wanted. And… Steve loved her.

That revelation really surprised him.

Throughout October, he hung out with Tommy and Carol, played basketball and threw a massive Halloween party. Things didn't change. His parent's still weren't home and his grades were still poor.

He tried to ignore the small thoughts that came in the night when he couldn't sleep and the minutes slipped into hours. He tried to stop those bitter tendrils of thought which told him he wasn't good enough, that no matter what he did, he would never be worth that of Nancy Wheeler. Useless and stupid, incapable and weak.

He found it easy _(hard)_ to block out the nagging doubt that if Nancy knew, truly knew what he was, that she would never wish to talk to him again.

When she laughed, when she smiled, it lit something warm in his chest and he never wanted to let it go. So, he did what he did best, Steve drew. He captured her in graphite, bent over a text book, lost in study. He filled a sketchbook with her eyes in watercolour, inked her smile and blended the shades of sunlight in her hair.

Then Steve got started on a canvas.

It took four weeks alongside his other projects. He painted her, in a thousand colours until it was like a photograph filled with colour. He painted her with all her perfect imperfections. He finished the final stroke, let it dry, wrote the start and finishing date on the back of the wooden stretcher bar and… he didn't look at it again.

Just one painting. Just one and Steve couldn't bring himself to start another. He painted it _for her,_ not himself, not to keep but… he couldn't show it to her.

Because whilst he knew Nancy was kind. Whilst he knew Nancy was good, the Steve she decided to date, the Steve she wanted to kiss was not the same Steve that woke up crying at two am in the morning. Was not the same kid who didn't know what he was doing half the time and who loved paint and pastels. For a moment, he wished someone would _see him._ Not King Steve or Steve 'The Hair' Harrington, spoilt rich kid with enough popularity and confidence to handle any situation. Just him…

The Steve who would've forgotten his parent's faces had there not been a picture of them in the hall.

The Steve, who's missing memories he cannot remember outside of sleep, drive him mad.

The Steve who loves to draw and had no social awareness at the age of fourteen.

So, he covered it and put it in a corner behind a couple other pieces. And it made Steve want to cry. Later he'd think that in some ways, the completion of the painting marked the beginning of the end.

* * *

There's a band around his wrist. It's not always the same band, for sports he'll wear a white one and it looks a bit like a wrist support so no one questions it. During the day, his long sleeves hide it so people never notice he's always wearing one. It's usually black.

But it's colour isn't important. Steve's worn a band around his left wrist for as long as he can remember and the thought of taking it off in public terrifies him to the point where he even wears it around the house.

He never thinks about what lies under it. He never thinks about why he needs to hide it. Steve just does.

* * *

So, things were okay. Things were better. He still felt like the loneliness was crushing him. He still simultaneously longed for dreaded when his parents would return home. He still painted and still stayed up until sunrise because of nightmares that he couldn't remember. But for the first time in his life _(in his memory)_ there was someone who could make him smile without having to think about it.

And it was good. It was better.

And then everything went to shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how was it? It's a bit shorter than the last one but I'm finally in 1983! I hope the addition of Artist!Steve (is that even a tag?) was okay. Kudos to everyone out there reading this!


	3. There are Missing People, Didn't You Hear?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3! This was done much faster than I thought but oh dear it was difficult to write. So surprisingly difficult.

**November 1983**

Sunday 6th:

Steve felt it, after the sun had gone down and darkness had descended on Hawkins. Something was there in the heart of the forest behind walls of concrete and barbed wire. Something unnatural. And hell, if that didn’t scare Steve, he didn’t know what would. 

(A few hours later Will Byers went missing from his home and Steve somehow knew something terrible had happened.)

That night he dreamed of a black void with a floor of endless water. He dreamed of a monster with no form, made of smoke and darkness. He dreamed of a little girl that radiated pure terror. 

But like all the other times he unknowingly dreamed about that ‘space in between’ growing up, he remembered nothing in the morning. 

(Nor did he remember the countless times he comforted her as she grew up either.)

***

Monday 7th:

_Will Byers is missing. Didn't you hear?_

Those words fill the halls, catching his ears as he walks towards his locker before class begins. The name, Will Byers bouncing around his head and Steve feels a little ill with how familiar it is. He’s got the same surname as that junior with a camera- Jonathan, and he knows Nancy's kid brother hangs out with him. 

The feeling is sudden and unexpected. A wave of fear sweeping through him as Steve thinks he might be sick with the inexplicable _need_ to see Nancy. 

_To see that she’s okay._

Logically he knows that Nancy is probably fine and that this kid barely has any connection to her but that doesn’t stop his dread. Flipping open one of his notebooks to a random page, Steve takes little time ripping out a page and hastily scrawling: 

_Meet me_

_Bathroom_

_Steve_

Before making his way to her locker and slotting it through the silted gaps on the front of the door as the bell for first period rings. 

Steve feels jittery as he waits in the girls bathroom for Nancy to appear (and yes Steve knows it’s weird but he’s there to meet his girlfriend so… it’s not _that_ inappropriate right?). The last two periods were torture as Steve found it near impossible to concentrate, just watching the seconds tick by painfully. So, as soon as the bell rang, he was out the door and racing down the corridor. 

When she arrived, Steve felt relief flood through him with a startling intensity. Nancy was okay, and that soothed his agitated nerves. Stepping out from behind her, Steve wrapped his arms around her in a hug. It startled her and she shrieked with laughter but Steve didn't care, he just needed to touch her and make sure she was really okay. 

He kissed her. Kissed with an urgency that he hoped conveyed how much he missed her. 

“Okay- I- I have to go-” She finally gets out once she realises how much time has passed. 

“One more minute-” And Steve doesn’t stop because even though he knows that she's fine, he can’t help the silly feeling of worry. She seems to catch onto something not being right so she lets him kiss her again. 

“Steve.” 

“Yeah-” He replies between kisses. 

“I really, like, seriously have to go.” And she's smiling again, bright a beautiful so he asks her;

“Let's do something tonight?”

“I-I can't. I have to study. For Kaminsky's chem test-” 

“What's your GPA again? 3.99999...?” He trails off, a teasing grin on his face.

“Kaminsky's tests are impossible-” Nancy throws back happily.

“So let me help-”

“You failed chem.” And when she smiled, the sting didn't even register at her assumption of his failure.

“C minus.” Steve grins and there's pride in his voice because he worked his arse off for that mark. 

“Oh, well, in that case…” She says in friendly mocking. 

But Steve can’t stop the small sting of hurt. Of course, C minus is poor, he knows that. She’s an A* student after all. For his parents, anything below an A is a failure and getting A* in art doesn't exactly count when it's a 'useless subject'. 

“So should I come over, say, eight?” He quickly responds, trying to sweep away the unwanted feeling. 

“Are you crazy? My mum won't allow that, no way-”

“Who says she needs to "allow" anything? I'll just climb through your window," Steve grins, "She won't even know I'm there. I'm stealthy- like a ninja.” 

“You are crazy.”

“Okay, okay, forget your place- we'll just chill in my car, find a nice quiet place to park...” He trials off suggestively. 

“Steve, I have to study- I'm not kidding.”

“Why do you think I want it nice and quiet?” And Nancy can't help but smile.

“You're an idiot, Steve Harrington.” And he's always found it odd that she can say that and make it sound less like an insult and more of an endearment. 

Nancy heads for the door and he feels a pulling at his chest that doesn't want her to go, doesn't want her to leave his sight where she might get hurt. And yeah, he knows that that's slightly stalkerish but Steve's never been worried about someone before (someone he could remember) and its new and frightening. 

“I'll meet you at Dearborn and Maple. At eight. _To study._ ” And she's gone before he can respond, a delighted smile making its way onto his face.

***

That evening, Nancy wasn’t there at Dearborn and Maple. Steve realised absently that with Will Byers missing, parents wouldn’t want their children out at night. _(Not that his parents cared so he was fine staying out late.)_ A part of him was glad he could figure that out. 

It took a few years of watching and listening to people interact but he finally understood a little. Most parents protected their children by shielding them from any perceived danger and in this case, a missing kid was a sign of danger. So, it made sense that Nancy wasn’t there. 

(He didn’t think about how he had removed himself from that observation. He didn’t think about how maybe his parents should be like that too.)

~*~*~

They were thirteen when Tommy said he had a curfew, this confused the hell out of Steve. Sure, he tried to be in bed before ten or else he’d be exhausted the next day (something that didn't matter on the nights when nightmares plagued his sleep) but the thought of _having_ to be home didn’t really make sense to him. 

It just didn’t pass his mind. 

“Do you want to hang out after school?” Steve asked, speech still slightly stilted and halting as if trying hard to remember what words to use. 

“Sure,” Tommy kicked a stone, “but I’ve gotta be home by six or my parents will kill me.” 

Steve’s head jerked up in alarm which caused his ‘friend’ to stop walking and look at him as if he were particularly dense. 

“Wait- no not literally! It’s a figure of speech geez,” Tommy sighed, shaking his head, “Man you’re retarded, it means I’ll get in trouble if I’m not home.”

Steve knew the word ‘retarded’, his Father said it enough times over the phone, that he had decided to open a dictionary for an answer. The problem with dictionaries was that a lot of the definitions didn’t make any sense. 

_To delay or impede the development or progress of : to slow up especially by preventing or hindering advance or accomplishment._

Hindering? Impede? Steve didn’t have a clue what that meant but luckily this word had an ‘informal definition’ printed beneath:

_A foolish or stupid person._

And Steve knew he was stupid. He didn’t need anyone to tell him that. 

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

Steve just looked at him expectantly.

“Just ‘cause! My parents don’t want me out late or I’ll miss dinner and it’s dangerous.”

“Miss dinner?”

Tommy didn’t bother answering that time, “Don’t you have to be home by a certain time?”

“No.”

And Tommy thought it was awesome that his parents let him stay out for as long as he wanted, Steve didn’t tell him that it was because they were never home. Steve didn’t ask him again what _‘missing dinner’_ meant when Steve didn’t have to eat if he wasn’t hungry or didn’t cook. 

Steve didn’t understand why it was dangerous to stay out late, he’d done that enough times.

***

He drove to Nancy’s house and parked a little way off before making his way to her window. He was slightly embarrassed by how many attempts it took to climb onto the garage roof to reach it. Steadfastly ignoring the frankly mortifying moment where her kid brother Mike spotted him. 

The condescending and unimpressed look on the little shits face scored him no popularity points. Trying in vain to keep his ‘coolness’ and distract from the uncoordinated fumbling from moments before, Steve held up a hand in a silent ‘hey’. 

The silent dismissal stung but he probably looked like a fool so it was perfectly warranted. He just hoped little Wheeler didn’t say anything to Nancy. You know, with the cool-look-thing he was pretty sure she was unimpressed by but still tried to maintain if it made her smile. 

She’s sat at her desk, focused on a chemistry textbook, and Steve taps on the window to get her attention. Nancy’s urgent waving in an attempt to shoo him away does nothing to hide the delighted sparkle in her eyes. So, after another tap and a charming smile, she’s opening the window with a poorly hidden grin. 

“What're you doing? I told you I have to stay in tonight.” She whispered as if worried someone will hear her and Steve bets she’s never broken more than a few rules in her life. 

_(His mind doesn’t gloss over the fact that, no, Nancy didn’t tell him she was staying in and he was waiting for her earlier. Maybe she forgot?)_

“I know, so we'll study here-”

“No,” She cuts him off quickly, “I told you, absolutely not, go away-”

“I don't want you failing tomorrow,” Steve climbs in anyway, his attempt at being sneaky failing when his foot catches on the window frame and he nearly topples over a bedside lamp. 

Standing hastily, hands on his hips in mock confidence, “What'd I tell you? Ninja.”

Her expression of disbelief and laughter is totally worth looking like a failed prince charming.

***

Steve loved Nancy’s room. From the soft, pastel pink, striped wallpaper, to the flower-patterned comforter on her bed. There are books of all kinds lined neatly on her shelves and a couple childhood dolls on her bedside table. Steve was stopped short for a moment with how much personality there is in her room. How it was so warm and well lived in. 

Nancy had given in a stack of flashcards to Steve and asked him to go through them until they were done. Warning him playfully that he might find this boring. There twenty minutes later, with her record player just loud enough that it masked their voices, Steve is frankly quite impressed with how smart she is. He knows she takes advanced chemistry and despite being a year older than her, is a thousand times smarter. Half of this stuff just goes over his head and she keeps getting each question right. 

"Which Polymers occur Naturally?" Steve asks, sitting on the opposite end of her bed.

“Starch and cellulose.” 

"In a molecule of CH4, the hydrogen atoms are spatially oriented toward the centres of a regular-"

“Tetrahedron.” 

Steve switches to the next card and as much as he loves helping her, even he can see that she’s going to ace this quiz, “Jesus, how many of these did you make?”

“You said you wanted to help!” Nancy chastises but smiles through it as if she had been waiting for this to happen. 

“How about this,” Steve starts, his tone light and joking, “Every time you get something right, I have to take off an item of clothing. Every time you get something wrong…” 

“Uh, pass.” She laughs.

“Come on, it'll be fun-” 

“No!” She sings playfully and Steve huffs slightly before looking down at the next card. 

"During fractional distillation, hydrocarbons are separated according to their- " 

“Melting points.” There’s no hesitation in her voice. 

“Ooooh,” He tuts, “Boiling points.”

“That's what I meant-” 

“But it's not what you said.” He points out grinning, gesturing to his shirt in a small movement even though Steve knows they’re the same thing.

“No. No!” Nancy repeats laughing.

“No?” He asks, mock confused, “You need help?“ 

Steve slowly pushes her down on the bed, and kisses her. After a moment of making out, Steve begins to unbutton her top but Nancy stops him.

“Steve, come on-” Nancy smiles again but something about the furrow of her brow is little unsure now.

“What?” And Steve’s starting to get a little confused at her hesitance. 

“Are you crazy? My parents are here-” She tries but Steve just looks around with a silent ‘huh’.

“Weird. I don't see them.” 

He leans over to kiss her again but Nancy just slides away suddenly angry.

“Was this your plan all along? Get in my room, then... get another notch on your belt?” And there's a painful snap in her sharp words. 

“No Nancy, no,” Steve says softly, looking down to hide his eyes and the confusion in them. How did she come to that conclusion? Didn't she know that he loved her, that he cared? Did he just not show it properly? Did he mess up at some point?

“I'm not like Laurie. Or Amy. Or- or Becky-” Nancy continues and he suddenly gets it. 

“You mean you're not a slut.” He says without hesitation because it’s true, those girls never cared, they had slept with half the boys in his year. 

“That's not what I'm saying.” Nancy throws back but she's not angry anymore. 

“You're cute when you lie.” And Steve was surprised with how smooth that response was. 

“Shut up.” She sits back down, a small upwards quirk to her lips. 

Steve smiles. He picks up a teddy bear which lies between them and makes it shake its head in disapproval.

"Bad Steve. Bad! Stay away from Miss Nancy!" He says in a silly voice and Nancy can't help but laugh.

“You're an idiot, Steve Harrington.” 

“You're beautiful, Nancy Wheeler.” And it wasn’t hard to say because it was more than true but it makes her blush. 

Steve picks up the almost forgotten flash cards with a smirk and continues;

"Compared to the rate of inorganic reactions, the rate of organic reactions generally is..."

***

That evening, after he had gone home, Steve found that he couldn’t sleep. So, he pulled down the entrance to his art room and just sat there. Surrounded by the things that comforted him the most, lost in thoughts, trying to make sense of things. 

Steve doesn’t remember loving anyone before Nancy. In his head he knew he should love his parents but they’re almost never around to the point where he’s not even sure anymore. When he saw them, he only recognised fear and hurt in his heart.

He knew those feelings well but _love_ was almost alien to him. It made Steve feel like there was a constant ache in his chest that flooded him with warmth and comfort at the most unexpected moments. It made him worry when he didn’t need to and it made him jealous when others were near. Love was something Steve couldn’t help and when it flooded through him, all he wanted to do was show the world. 

So, he tended to be a clique because how else could he show affection other than flowers and love letters? By kissing her at any chance he got? By buying her nice things because they were worth so much more than him?

Steve didn’t- couldn’t love by halves. He’d had ‘crushes’ on girls growing up, like any other kid, but he’d never loved them with as much intensity as he loved Nancy. It left him flat footed because he just didn’t know what to do with all of it. 

Steve had never really seen two people love each other, he’d never had any siblings and his parents were never there to show him. So, all he really had was Tommy and Carol’s relationship which started when they were fifteen. Ever since then they had broken up and gotten back together countless times but still maintained the statement that they loved each other. 

He sometimes thought loving someone was as easy as breathing for Tommy. He never seemed to over think things and no matter what rough spot his and Carol's relationship went through, they loved each other. So, when Tommy told him the best way to show someone you love them is through sex, he didn’t question it. 

Steve loved Nancy, loved her so much that he thought his heart would burst but didn’t know how to show it. That’s mostly why he tried to have sex with her because that’s all he knew aside from compliments and flowers. So, when she was so against having sex, when it made her upset, Steve didn’t understand. He just wanted to show her that he loved her, he just wanted a way for her to see without the help of paints or pencils. 

Then when she started talking about his last dates before her (and of course she had heard about them, King Steve was popular for a reason) Steve saw something in her gaze that made him stop. He saw something in her posture, in the way her eyes widened her fingers twitched. 

For a moment it was as if he could read her clearly as if it were written out in front of him. For a moment he could tell exactly what she was feeling and what she was thinking. And didn’t know what it meant then but he gathered she didn’t want this. So, he hid his confusion, somehow knew exactly the right thing to say and made her smile again before continuing where they had left off. 

Later, as he sat there on the wooden floors of the attic, Steve recalled everything he saw and finally understood what it was. He saw how she felt betrayed, how she felt cheated and tricked. How for her, sex wasn’t the only way to show someone you cared and it was only now that Steve realised that maybe… maybe Tommy was wrong. Maybe you could love someone without sex, maybe there was a way to show it completely without it. It made Steve laugh with how mistaken he had been. 

(Earlier, when he got home and a small clot of blood appeared on the tissue after he blew his nose, Steve didn’t think twice about it there. After all, why would you?)

***

Tuesday 8th:

Steve’s just finished inviting Nancy to his house that evening for a party. Carol and Tommy weren’t the kindest with their condescending mimicry of Nancy’s comments but they were always like that and Steve could tell they weren’t being mean on purpose. Barbara, Nancy’s best friend was there too and he got the distinctive impression that she didn’t like him or his group too much. He was waiting for Nancy’s answer but before she could reply, Carol gestured her head, pulling away everyone's focus. 

“Oh, God. Look.” She was pointing across the hall to where someone was putting up a missing poster on the notice board.

Jonathan Byers, Steve realised, another new kid to Hawkins High and fellow classmate of Nancy Wheeler. All it took was a single glance at the skinny awkward teen, with his second-hand sweaters and shuffling feet before Tommy was grinning with a mad sort of glee. A new target for a new year. 

Steve’s expression becomes pinched as he looks over at the younger teen, “Oh, God, that's depressing.” 

“Should we say something?” Nancy asks hesitantly.

“I don't think he speaks.” Carol drawls condescendingly. 

“How much you want to bet he killed him?” Tommy sniggers like it was a particularly good joke. 

“Shut up.” Steve bites back quickly, shoving Tommy in a way that clearly isn’t playful but he takes it as that anyway. He could practically feel the distress coming off Byers. Did no one else notice or was Tommy just that much of arsehole? 

Nancy makes up her mind and walks over, Carol once told him that Wheeler had a bleeding heart and it wasn’t a compliment.

“Hey.”

Jonathan looks up, clearly not expecting her to walk over, “Oh, hey.”

“I just- I wanted to say, you know, um, I'm sorry about everything.” Nancy starts, “Everyone's thinking about you.” And it's evident that she wants to clear the awkward moment, “It sucks.”

Jonathan seems to struggle with what to say before settling on, “Yeah.” And Steve suddenly feels a pang of empathy because he… he was like that too _(and still is sometimes)_ never really knowing how to talk to people or what to say. Never quite understanding _why_ someone did what they did. 

“I'm sure he's fine. He's a smart kid.” Steve remembers that she probably knew him quite well since Mike’s in Will’s friend group. 

The bell rings, saving them from having to end the conversation, “I have to go. Chemistry test.”

“Yeah.” 

“Good luck.” And Nancy turns and makes her way back to walk with Barbara to class. 

“Thanks.” Jonathan says quietly.

“Attention, faculty and students,” The PA system announces, “At 8:00 p.m. tonight, there will be an assembly on the football field in support of Will Byers and his family. All are encouraged to attend. Volunteer sign-ups for search parties are still available in the office…”

***

Steve was oddly nervous about Nancy being at his house, he’d never invited her over before and he’s slightly glad Barbara’s coming too because sometimes he thinks his friends might be wolves. They circle and circle you until you cave and he doesn’t want that happening to Nancy. 

His nerves settled quite quickly after a cigarette and a beer so, naturally, he was back to playing his King Steve persona again without little difficulty. Steve remembers when he first drank, he remembers his first cigarette. His friend group introduced him to a lot of things, two of which being weed and sex. 

Tommy got a way to get older kids buy them cigarettes and alcohol and soon fostered that ‘duty’ onto Steve because “he was loaded” and could pay more for it. 

He was fourteen when he had his first cigarette, it made his throat burn and he felt like he was choking for a moment. Thick grey smoke curling its way into his lungs and Tommy laughed as he spluttered and coughed. Steve didn’t like smoking but he took another puff because Tommy said it was cool and if you were cool you fit in, when you were cool, you weren't picked on.

Steve slowly got used to the feeling and it wasn’t until he was fifteen that he realised he wasn’t only having a smoke when Tommy was around, but other times too; when his nerves were frazzled and he needed to calm down, late at night when he couldn’t sleep and simply just wanting to pass the time. 

Weed came into the picture when he was fifteen, being popular and good looking got you invites to seniors parties. It didn’t matter that he was a kid. He didn’t smoke that too often though, Tommy was always a dick when he was high and Steve didn’t like smoking the stuff on his own. A part of his popularity was not being close to many people, this made him slightly ‘mysterious’. Sure, he’d talked to everyone and flirted with plenty of people but Tommy and Carol really were the only people he talked to regularly and that meant you couldn’t really go up to someone and ask if they wanted to share a smoke after school. 

He was fifteen when he had his first beer. It tasted like watered down piss since it was cheap stuff and it made his fingertips buzz and his movements uncoordinated. The next day his head pounded like someone had hit him with a hammer and his eyes were red. Over the years, Steve stopped bothering to count how many times he’d puked in the morning. Later, after his father had hit him for poor grades and making the curtains smell like smoke (even though he didn’t care that his son smoked) he realised that it dulled your feelings until you forgot about them. 

It wasn’t like he drank often; chain smoking was sometimes a thing but it wasn't too bad. He disliked how hangovers stopped him from painting properly so he figured out a way to make it look like he was drinking quite a lot when in fact he was only slightly tipsy. His high tolerance helped a bit too. 

They're sitting outside by his pool and Steve’s just downed a beer in proper party fashion. Carol and Tommy happily alternate between laughing, drinking and making out. Nancy’s drunk a fair bit and she's giggling but is still resolutely trying to pretend to be unimpressed by his show. 

Tommy and Carol goad Nancy into giving it a go and after she aces it first time, they then turn to Holland who’s still on her first can and finding it easy to remain sensible. It doesn’t take long before she's giving in and picking up a new can (and Steve has a feeling that if Nancy hadn’t suggested it too, Barbara wouldn’t have gone through with it). The night hasn’t gone badly so far and Steve’s having fun. 

But then Barb’s hand slips and suddenly her can is on the ground along with the knife. She's half curled in on herself reflexively from the unexpected pain and before anyone can react, Steve’s gotten up from his deck chair with surprising speed, and is walking towards her. 

“Gnarly,” Someone comments and Steve’s not sure if it’s Carol or Tommy. 

“Are you okay?” Nancy asks with clear concern, she might be tipsy but that doesn’t change the fact that her best friend is hurt.

“Yeah.” She answers absentmindedly.

“Barb, you're bleeding.” Nancy’s up and making her way to her but Barb just brushes her off. 

“I'm fine.” She repeats though this time her teeth are clearly grit and she’s upset. 

_(Indignant. She didn’t even want to come to this stupid party but Nancy’s her best friend and someone’s got to look out for her.)_

Steve somehow knows that all this is exactly what she’s feeling. That Barb’s injured because he goaded her into doing something she didn’t want to do and now she’s _hurt._

“Where's your bathroom?” She asks, cutting through Steve’s thoughts. 

“Oh, it's... It's, uh, down past the kitchen, to the left.” He stutters, trying not to notice how familiar the way Barbs blood drips onto the concrete patio is. 

“Okay. Thanks.” She’s already turned and leaving as Nancy sit’s back down, mind too fuzzy to think about what to do next.

***

Barbara finds the bathroom, tears of frustration stinging her eyes and she tries to stop the bleeding. 

“Hey.”

A voice sounds behind her and there’s Steve.

“Don’t worry I’ll wash the blood out of your sink,” She retorts, slightly surprised how bitter it sounds. 

Steve looks pained for a second before running a hand through his hair.

“I-” He starts, “I’m sorry about your hand. We- I shouldn’t have pushed you into doing that.”

Barbara’s face goes slack with shock and Steve once again looks like that alone hurt. 

“Look- um- I keep a first aid kit upstairs and brought some stuff down so- I-,” He’s fumbling for words and Barbara feels like she’s been thrown into a parallel universe. Popular Senior Steve Harrington, apologising and stumbling over words? _What?_

“I know how to bandage cuts so if you’ll let me _Icandoit?_ ” Steve finally gets out in a hurried rush. 

Stunned, she nods and watches as he efficiently cleans and wraps the cut in well-practiced movements. White gauze keeping the injury hidden and protected. 

“Right, uh, just go to hospital and get it checked out tomorrow.” And just like that he’s gone, leaving Barb feeling a bit flat footed and unable to say thanks.

***

It takes only a moment but somehow all of them have fallen into Steve’s pool. There’s a feeling of euphoria bubbling up inside his chest as he watched Nancy giggle and laugh as he pulled her in with him. Barb’s still not back from the bathroom and Carol has most likely already forgotten about the incident. 

Steve’s hosted and been to enough parties to know that unless he wants to pull down the mood, he shouldn’t linger on thinking about Miss. Holland. 

Not long after, they’re climbing out and into the house, trying in vain to dry their clothes on the poolside towels. 

“I'm freezing.” Carol whines as if it wasn’t her fault that she got drenched in water. 

Tommy’s already grabbed her hand and is playfully pulling her upstairs, “Hmm... well, I hear his mum's room has a fireplace.”

“Are you kidding?” And Steve stops short because _really?_ That’s just gross, he could’ve sworn there was an unspoken rule to not enter the parents rooms at parties. 

“Oh, yeah?” And it's blatantly clear that she’s considering it and probably won’t change her mind. 

“Okay,” He gives in, “Well, you know, you are cleaning the sheets.” Steve’s had enough of cleaning up their _mess_ to last a lifetime.

“You all right?” He asks Nancy who’s slightly shivering in her soaked long sleeve. 

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah? Come on, let's get you some dry clothes.”

They’re making their way up the stairs when Barbara appears. 

“Nance!” She calls out as her best friend turns, “Nancy, where are you going?”

“Nowhere. Just... upstairs. To change. I... fell in the pool,” She giggles at the thought, and her friend’s expression closes off, “Why don't you go ahead and go home. I'll just... I'll get a ride or something.”

“Nance...” 

“Barb... I'm fine.”

“This isn't you.” She insists, trying to get her to listen. 

“I'm fine. Just... go ahead and go home, okay?”

Barbara scoffs, _yeah Harrington may be a little decent but one good action doesn't change who he is._ And watches as they go up to what she assumes is Steve’s room. She turns to go back outside, sitting by the pool trying to decide if she should stay and wait or ditch Nancy like she ditched her. 

(She doesn't notice that someone had cleaned up the blood from the ground but couldn't do anything about a few drops spilling into the pool. She doesn't notice the faceless creature walking through a rift in the woods towards the scent of an open wound.)

(No one hears her scream. No one goes looking for her that night but Steve feels that unnatural presence that he can’t pinpoint and convinces himself it’s a figment of his imagination.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hoping to have the whole of season 1 in this chapter but after a while I realised that this was going to be waayyy too long so it's going to be split amongst another one or two more chapter. Really it depends on how many cannon scenes I'm planning to have in each chapters. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I've honestly been shocked by how many people have seen this fic! Kudos to you all!


	4. One event after another, there is no break pt.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... It's been a while (holy shit six months?!) But I'm back! For how long idk. I had such a terrible case of writer's block with this chapter! I've got the next five planned out but I can't seem to put it into words :( Don't worry though! I won't abandon this story! Thank you for waiting! Hope it's up to standard! 💕

**Wednesday 9th of November 1983**

The clock struck 4am with a near silent tick. The almost leafless trees creaked in the autumn wind and somewhere far off, a dog barked in the night. Nancy lay asleep in her boyfriend’s bed, blanket tucked carefully over her, blissfully unaware that she was alone. 

He was downstairs, leaning against the glass sliding door which led to the pool. It was cracked open, letting in an icy draft which lifted the bottoms of the thin curtains. Head tilted back to stare at the stars, hair tousled as if he’d just had sex, Steve Harrington sat there against the November chill, hardly noticing the cold as he made to light another cigarette. 

He couldn’t sleep- no, had never been able to sleep when other people were around. It was almost as if his body was constantly on guard. With every girl he had spent the night with, he always lay awake until the morning. With every sleep over he had had with Tommy. H, it had been filled with staring at a darkened ceiling, just waiting for the sun to rise. 

Steve couldn’t sleep around others and Nancy was no exception. Not that he wanted to try, he was never sure which nights would be bad nights and Steve couldn’t risk having a nightmare with her beside him. Sure he could sleep in one of the guest rooms or even on the couch but his mind was too frazzled to bother. 

He and Nancy didn’t have sex. They made out for a while before it ended with Nancy tucked into him as she slowly fell asleep. It was odd, just the other day he would’ve used this opportunity to do just that but ever since his ‘realisation’, Steve didn’t really see the need to. He wasn't even sure if he really wanted to. 

Taking another puff of his cigarette, he absently remembered that he was trying to quit because Nancy didn't like it. Tommy and Carol had stumbled off to their respective places around 2am, unsurprisingly leaving their shit for him to clean up again. Having finished as much homework as his brain was willing to get through, he'd stripped the bed and stuck their sheets in the washing machine around 4am. 

In all honesty, Steve wasn't really sure what he was doing there in the cold. He wasn't thinking about anything in particular. There was just something at the back of his mind which refused to let him rest. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, leaving an horribly lingering sense of unease. 

The clock struck six and the sun had long since risen. Steve eventually tried to shrug off this illogical worry he felt and finally went back upstairs to climb into bed so that he'd be there when Nancy woke up. 

In the early autumn sunlight which streamed pale and white through the gaps in the curtains, Steve didn't think Nancy had ever looked more beautiful. Face softened in sleep and a small smile on her lips. Lying down next to her, mindful to not shift the mattress too much, seconds ticked by without thought and before he had even realised, his eyes had drifted closed. 

Steve jolted in sudden panic. Eyes flying wide open as he searched frantically for his bedside clock. Twenty minutes. _Twenty minutes._ 6:40 flashed red beside him and Steve couldn't formulate any understandable train of thought as his mind froze in shock. Nancy stirred beside him and he luckily had enough mental capacity to close his eyes and pretend to still be asleep, face turned into his pillow to hide his expression. 

"Steve?" She whispered softly as she nudged him, "Hey, Steve."

"Mmm." 

"I'll… See you later, okay?"

"Mmm-hmm."

Steve couldn't bring himself to look up, successfully convincing her that he was still half asleep. Nancy sighed slightly and climbed out from under the covers, putting on her clothes and tip toeing out the room. He realised that he was being incredibly rude and should probably make her breakfast and drive her home but… Steve couldn't. 

He didn't move until he heard the front door close. Springing out of bed with frantic speed to stumble down the corridor and pull down the ladder to that attic. Steve grabbed the closest piece of paper, hardly noticing the half finished sketch of something that he was writing over with a stick of graphite. 

He wasn't good with words. Steve usually stuck to art in order to organise and work through his thoughts. Letters just didn't seem to hold enough meaning and words didn't seem to hold enough information. Somewhere out there, Steve knew there were probably a thousand words that could explain what was going on in his head but he didn't know them and searching for words wasn't easy. Art came more naturally than words ever did. 

But in this moment he could do nothing but stare at the words he had written in shock. Not a single image, shape or line forming in his mind's eye that could possibly explain the feelings that were spinning in his head. 

It was like the world had been thrown sideways and everything he thought about himself was wrong. Steve _couldn't_ fall asleep with someone else in the room. He found it hard enough when his parents were home, falling asleep when they were awake just screamed _dangerdangerdanger,_ even when he knew he was supposed to feel safe. Hell, sleeping anywhere where others were awake and he wasn't just made his skin crawl. _(Yes, he knew he had issues. It wasn’t like he had anyone to talk to about them.)_

It was a fact. A rule. Steve couldn’t sleep around others. So, how the hell had he fallen asleep around Nancy? Even if it was only for twenty minutes? He wasn’t exhausted or tired, he wasn’t even trying to sleep, so, how?

In that moment Steve felt so horribly confused and lost. He had no outlet, no way to express this- this… he didn't know! He didn’t know and it terrified him. 

It was 7.30 when the phone rang in the hall downstairs. Shrill and terribly unwanted. He couldn't deal with this now. He got there just after five rings, picking up. 

"Hello."

"Steven." His stomach plummeted. _Shit._

"Good morning Father," and Steve was thankful that his voice didn't shake, narrowly avoiding the shocked _“Dad”_ that threatened to slip out. He hadn't heard his voice in _months._

"Terminal five, ten pm, this evening. Be sure to pick us up." The line went dead as Mr. Harrington hung up. 

_Fuck._ A shaky laugh left him involuntarily. He _couldn't_ deal with this now. He couldn't _fucking_ deal with this. He ran a hand through his hair as panic rushed through his veins. 

Classes started at nine. He had an just under hour before he had to leave the house lest he be definitely late. After school there was a game and he couldn’t miss that so he’d be home around six at the latest, five if he found a way to excuse himself from hanging out with the others. The airport was about an hour away so that gave him four hours to clean once he got home. _That wasn’t enough time._

He silently thanked himself for stripping his parent’s bed around four am and running them through the washing machine not long after. They’d have the entire day to dry and packed long before he had to leave this evening. 

He could do this. He could do this. It was just his parents. 

_(So why did he feel scared?)_

***

He saw Nancy before class started, she looked the same as usual but Steve got the feeling that she was confused about something. 

"Hey!" He smiled, leaning against a locker, Nancy seemed to always make him smile by just being there. 

She laughed brightly but he swore he heard something nervous about it, “Hey!”

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah! - Yeah, totally. I just… I feel like everyone's... staring at me."

"Oh, I didn't... I didn't tell anyone." _Tommy, Carol, you arseholes._

“I know. I know. Of course not. But what about, like, Tommy, and Carol and them?”

"You're being paranoid."

"I'm sorry." Steve kicked himself. Yeah real smooth Harrington. Calling a girl paranoid. You should've known she'd react weirdly. 

"No. No, it's cute." Ha, that save died, change the topic you idiot, “Hey...I had a good time.”

“Yeah... Yeah. Me, too.” And Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that she wanted to say something else. That she was lying.

***

Nancy was confused. She genuinely thought that Steve wanted to have sex with her. That evening, when he climbed through her window, kissed her soundly and made to unbutton her shirt, she was so sure that he wanted it. That’s why she made those comments because she didn’t want to be ‘just another girl’ he wanted to add to his list. But they didn’t do anything other than kiss last night, sure they had taken off their shirts but other than that… nothing. Steve didn’t even unbutton his trousers. 

So, yes, Nancy was confused. She knew it wasn’t because he wasn’t into her or anything like that, she knew that it wasn’t because he was shy or unsure, it just seemed like he didn’t plan to. He was ‘Steve Harrington’ for goodness sake. Maybe that night in her room, he really did just wanted to unbutton her shirt and not have sex. Maybe that was never his intent. _Maybe_ she was reading too much into it. Yeah, she probably was. 

Nancy decided that she’d ask Barb in a few hours.

***

Something wasn’t right. Hell, something hadn’t been right since Saturday evening. It was like an oppressive cloud of something foreign had settled over the town. The air seemed to crackle with static like a wall of white noise in his head. It screamed _danger_ and Steve hated it. Somehow it had gotten worse last night, like whatever it was had been _near_ him. 

This constant low buzzing that surrounded everything made him want to grip his head and scream from frustration. He was going crazy. There was no other explanation for it. He knew there was no noise entering his ears but he could still _hear_ it. A low constant, almost imperceivable thrumming in the back of his mind telling him to run. 

It was exhausting. This hypersensitivity brought on by the feeling of danger and Steve was tired, so tired of feeling afraid without knowing its cause. He ran a hand through his hair before focusing back onto the conversation, something... about foot fungus from his pool? What? 

Just before he could formulate a response, Nancy appeared.

“Hey, Tommy. When you left, did you see Barb?” There was a concerned furrow in her brow which she was failing to hide. 

“What?”

“Barbara." She repeated before going on to explain, "She's not here today.”

“I seriously have no idea who you're talking about.” Tommy smirked in an attempt to rile her. 

"Come on, don't be an ass, man." Steve interrupted. 

"Did you- did you see her leave last night or not?"

"No, she was gone when we left." Carol noted disinterestedly. 

"Probably couldn't stand listening to all that moaning." Tommy jabbed before descending into poorly contained giggles, although Steve knew that he'd deny that and call them 'chuckles'. 

Carol apparently finding this the funniest thing of the day, launched into a dramatic performance of this, Tommy quickly catching on and joining in. Both seemingly relishing the bright red Nancy's cheeks had taken.

"Oh, Steve!"

"Oh, Steve! Oh, Steve!"

"Oh, Steve!"

Elbowing his 'friend' in the ribs, just a tad too hard to be playful, Steve kept his face so light hearted that Tommy had no choice but to take it as an innocent jab. 

“Listen," Steve looked at Nancy, trying to ignore the sudden sinking feeling in his gut, "I'm sure she's fine. She's probably just… she's probably just, like, skipping or something.”

The lie passed through his lips without a second thought but somehow Steve knew with horrid certainty; Barb wasn’t coming back.

***

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The clock at the front of the classroom continued its inevitable countdown. Steve's hands itched for a set of coloured pencils and sheets of blank paper; something, anything to take his mind off everything that was going on. But Art wasn't on his time table today and he'd long since run out of scrap paper to squiggle on. 

_Shit._

He resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair and let his frustration leak onto his face. Steve's mind spun as he simultaneously wished and dreaded for the day to end. 

There was just too much _shit_ going on.

Life in Hawkins wasn't what you'd describe as hectic. Being a small town, there wasn't much to do. Sure, there was the centre of town with its shops and arcades, bowling alley and cinema. But mostly, you just hung around with your peers or pursued hobbies. Still, with everything that had happened in the last day, Steve felt like he had far too much shit to do and not enough time to do it. 

The hours slipped by and Steve's mind kept turning back to one thing. 

_Barbara Holland._

Last seen at a small party in Steve’s house, with underage drinking and 'illegally' acquired alcohol. Barbara Holland was missing and the uneasiness that wrapped itself around him, did nothing to help him hope that she was just skipping class.

That uneasiness... that silent noise at the back of his head _shifted_ last night. It shifted like the air had been snatched away in a captured scream. It shifted and he felt it keenly, almost as if it was right beside where he lay the night before. Sitting by the back door to the poolside, not truly leaving the house but still close enough to be near that body of water... 

His parents _(and why did the very thought of them, send a jolt of fear?)_ were coming home, and the house needed to be clinically perfect before they arrived. There was a game after school he couldn’t afford to miss because what would it say to people is “Steve Harrington” missed a match? _(Why did it even matter?)_ Nancy was upset and he didn’t know why she was hiding it _(how did he mess up?)_.

Everything was piling up and Steve felt like he was being crushed under the weight- the pencil snapped in his hand as the bell for the end of period five rang shrill and unwanted-

Then Nicole shows up with an ‘important notification’ and Steve knows better than to trust what she had to say as facts. He doesn’t want to believe her, sure Byers is a bit creepy and socially awkward but wasn’t he like that at one point? He knows better than to trust her but somehow he can _see_ it, somehow he knows it’s true from the mix of emotions in her eyes. The combination of anger at what she had seen and glee at the chaos she was causing by telling them this. 

If what she says is true, Byers would be a social outcast in all years by tomorrow morning. 

***

Tommy leads the way, walking up to Byers in the school car park and wrapping his arm around his shoulder with a smile, “Hey, man.”

“What's going on?” And Byers sounds nervous, arms subconsciously wrapping around his bag as if to protect it and Steve... Steve sees it all. From the way his footsteps stutter and his head tilts slightly sideways, to the way his shoulders hunch inwards to make himself smaller and his eyes shift to the side as he notices Steve lent against a car. His eyes track the slight increase in the frequency of his breaths as they become shallower, noticing the minute tightening of the skin around Byers eyes. 

Every small and seemingly inconsequential action suddenly having a meaning, a definition, like small pieces of a puzzle slotting themselves together effortlessly. It was like a barrier has broken in the back of his mind and Steve doesn't think he's ever seen so clearly. 

W̡̢el̶̢l̢ ̢͞d̡҉҉o̧ne̷ ̸̧F͝į̵͢v̧͘e̸̛. N͘ow̴̛͘ ̧͢f̶̡o̴͜͡c̸u̶͘̕s̡͘ ͠͏ǫ̸̕ņ h̵i̷͟s̷͞ w̨͡͏e͢a̡k͜͡n͠͝es̷͠s̛.͏̢ ͟

Steve sees it all and it says...

_Guilty._

(His nose drips and he absent mindedly notices a smeared drop of blood on the back of his hand.)

Steve steps forward, posture relaxed and friendly as he answers his question, “Nicole here was ah, telling us about your work.” There’s an easy smirk on his face and Carol quickly follows suit. 

“We've heard great things.” She exaggerates with a pretty smile.

Tommy nods agreeably, arm leaving Byers’ shoulder, “Yeah, sounds cool.”

“And we'd just love to take a look. You know, as... connoisseurs of art.” Steve continues and to anyone else- anyone but Jonathan- it seems like a kind and eager request. 

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Byers shifts on his feet as he tries to walk away, his hands wrapping tighter around the straps of his bag. 

“Oh, no?” Tommy calls in mock surprise and Steve uses that as a chance to step forward, swift and strong, to grab the strap of the bag and spin it over to his possession. 

“Oh,” Steve sings, a note of aggression leaking past his pleasant front, clashing with the cheerful note. 

Byers instantly pales further, hands twisting by his side as they start to get sweaty _(it’s the nerves- he’s got a reason to f̶̕ea̛͡r̕͘ ̢y҉͏ou,_ a voice whispers, į̵͜s҉͜n̸̷’͘͜͡t̸̷ ̧̀t̶̨h̡͞a̸̴t̨̕ ͝r͟í̴g̵̴ht̡͏̀ ͡͏F҉͟i̷͡ve̴?́͞ _)_

“Hey. Please, give me my bag. Give-” He sounds desperate and Steve raises an eyebrow and Byers falters, unknowingly confirming his guilt, “-No, just…”

A humourless chuckle leaves Steve’s lips, “Man, he is totally trembling. He must really have something to hide,” Propping the ‘borrowed’ bag onto the hood of a car, he reaches in with confidence and pulls out stack black and white photos, “-Ah… Here we go.”

It feels like the blood in his veins has simultaneously turned to ice and molten metal. He doesn't know exactly what emotions are currently raging through him but there's definitely some form of anger making his vision narrow. 

“Oh, man.” And there’s the anger he can’t contain leaking into his tone as he flips through the stack of pictures. 

He could handle creepy pictures being taken of his property. He could handle creepy pictures being taken of him. Sure he'd act out and make sure the person responsible knew _exactly_ what they were doing wrong but aside from being a bit unnerved and irritated, Steve could handle it. _(He’d dealt with worse)_

But this... This was very different. This was Nancy. This was his girlfriend. Someone he trusted his a piece of his heart. Someone he swore to protect. Someone he cared about. This was a sixteen year old girl who had done nothing to warrant- hell no one deserved this sort of attention. 

To be honest, a small part of him is disappointed. Despite knowing, despite his certainty- a small part of him wanted to be wrong. Jonathan Byers is the sort of kid Steve guessed he would've been like had Tommy not been paired up with him in middle school. The type of kid who's socially awkward and doesn't always seem to know how to interact with people. Steve thought that had he and Jonathan been the same age, they would've been the best of friends. But that didn't matter anymore- Byers was dead meat. 

Noticing his expression, Tommy hones in like a shark that's smelt blood, “Let me see,” He utters eagerly and grabs some of the photos. A couple seconds later, a joyful laugh escapes his lips, “Dude!”

Carol takes photo and scoffs in disbelief, “Yeah, this isn't creepy at all.”

“I was looking for my brother.” Byers defends, and Steve clenches his jaw in an attempt to remain level headed, he won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing his anger. Dismissal hurts more. 

“No," Steve swagers up to him, getting right into his space, "-No, this is called stalking,” and he hums affirmatively, anger in his eyes and an easy smile on his face. 

“What's going on?” And Steve turns in slight surprise at the voice, he was so focused on Byers, his anger cutting like a knife and pinpointed on the younger kid that he didn't notice her approach. 

“Here's the starring lady!” Tommy bows dramatically, ushering her forward. 

“What?” And there's no mistaking the slight disapproval in her posture (Steve steadfastly ignores the twinge in his chest) and confusion at Tommy's words.

“This creep was spying on us last night.” Carol scoffs, glancing at Nancy with a look the younger girl definitely wouldn't recognise; hiding whatever she's thinking masterfully behind a carefully constructed front.

There's definitely some hint of smugness and bitter snark in her tone as answers with a single action, "He was probably gonna save this one for later.” 

Nancy just looks down at the figure in the developed image in her hands. Outlined by the light of a window, topless with nothing a bra, the girl in the photo is undoubtedly herself and her brow creases in a way Steve has never seen before, her expression unreadable. 

“See," Steve clicks tongue, turing to face the perpetrator once more, "you can tell that he knows it was wrong, but… Man, that's the thing about perverts..." He steps closer to Byers who's slowly been backing away.

"It's hardwired into them," he reaches over, swift and steady, and Byers flinches as Steve straightens collar, "You know-"

The sound of tearing paper, cuts through the heavy atmosphere.

"They just can't help themselves." 

And Tommy howls with laughter. 

***

Carol took one look at _Little Miss Princess_ as she marched up to them with disapproval written across her face and her _know-it-all_ tone and hoped she felt really guilty later. No doubt Wheeler had entered the car park and taken one look at Jonathan's panicked expression and Steve's confident smile and come to the hasty conclusion that Steve was bullying Byers. How Steve could fall for a girl who was so ready to jump to negative conclusions about her boyfriend, Carol didn't have the faintest clue.

Looking back now, she's surprised Steve didn't punch Byers in the face before proceeding beat the shit out of the fucking creep. It would've been a perfectly understandable reaction and even the teachers would have probably only given him a detention and a slap on the wrist. Byers probably would've been the one expelled for the photos. _(Steve_ _was always too soft, too kind, even as he tried to hide it behind the confident cocky front Tommy had him wear.)_

Recalling the fucking _disdain_ on Wheeler's face made her clench her jaw in irritation. She didn't hide the fact that she disliked the younger girl, but for Steve, she could try to be civil and keep to comments to sarcastic and slightly irritating. 

(She watched as Steve chased after her. Pretty, innocent and kind Nancy Wheeler. She watched as she pretended to be uninterested, _pretended_ to be some sort of perfect student with no ill will to anyone. She watched as Wheeler planted small thoughts into Steve's head - making him change into something he wasn't and Steve _listened._ She watched as Steve fell head over heels for a girl who did nothing but silently look down on him before blushing sweetly and smiling.)

A part of her wondered why, if she so readily disapproved of everything Steve was, why she decided to go out with him? Carol couldn't stop the snort that escaped her lips and Tommy glanced at her questioningly. She just shook her head and thought wryly about the almost obvious answer. It's because Steve looks at her like she gifted him the stars in a bottle, it's because she sees Steve as something that needs to be fixed, like he's a delinquent that needs guidance. She's got a superiority and saviour complex and enjoys the attention he gives her.

But Carol didn't bother to pretend she understood Steve Harrington. With his confusing statements and lack of understanding for the most basic things. Steve Harrington with is empty home and obviously absent parents. With is sudden flinches and weird liking to art. Steve Harrington with a reaction to needles so severe, there was not a single doubt in her mind that something sick must've happened to him as a kid to get like at. Not to mention that time he broke his arm and made himself a sling and just _shrugged it off_ and kept on going his groceries (because his absent fucking parents weren't home) - she'd heard about it from Robin (back when they were still friends). So yeah, Carol didn't pretend to understand Steve. Sweet and confused Steve who didn't deserve people like her and Tommy. 

Steve had secrets and Steve was messed up. But five years of hanging around someone tended to get you attached and she'd be damned if she'd let someone as toxic as Nancy Wheeler hang around her friend. Even if he ended up hating her for it. 

***

“So…" Scraps of paper are tossed to the ground without any form of care, a deserved insult to Byers in more ways than one. 

_Hawkins was covered in some weird hazy shit that was making it hard for him to think._

The scraps of paper fell to the ground like a shower of confetti. 

_Like a live wire, Steve felt constantly on edge and it didn't help that no one else could feel it too._

"We'll just have to take away his toy.” Like a crack of lightning, Steve's lunged forward and relieved Byers of his most prized possession.

_It was probably all in his head and there was nothing wrong._

“Steve...” Nancy whispers in a half plea, her expression conflicted and Carol can't stop the disbelief that floods her at the girls tone ( _what actual the fuck?_ )

“No! Please-" He begs, "Not the camera-” And Byers sounds desperate as he lunges forward to stop Steve but Tommy intercepts with an outstretched arms and pushes him back. A feral grin on his face as he looks forward to a confrontation. 

_It was probably nothing but it didn't stop Steve wanting to tear his hair out in frustration._

Steve seems to notice this too and pulls back his friend, “Heeeaaayy- Tommy, Tommy, It's okay,” And his smirk is back, made all the more terrifying by the spark of anger in his eyes.

_Jonathan’s creepy behaviour just pushed him over the limits of his control and in that moment-_

“Here you go, man.” Byers hesitates, distrusting of the sudden goodwill. 

_Steve wanted nothing more than to let everything out._

Steve stretches his arms out with the camera and Tommy immediately catches on, stepping away with glee. 

Byers steps forward, to take it back.

Steve's easy smile doesn't fade as he lets his hand go lax, the camera falling out of his grip without a single care.

The sound of shattering glass and warping metal crashes against the cement. 

_And so he let it out._

The device lies smashed against the ground in a thousand pieces and Jonathan's expression breaks with it. 

_Steve doesn't hesitate. Hand reached out as if to return the device and just as Jonathan steps forward, he lets the camera slip out of his fingers and onto the darkened cement._

Byers looks down, rocking slightly on his feet and his eyes begin to sting and Steve suddenly no longer looks angry or happy and simply avoids looking and Jonathan completely before quickly turning.

_Tommy howls with laughter and Steve... Steve can't stop himself looking at Jonathan's face and suddenly he feels sick, a wave of guilt flooding him so quickly that he can't even stop some of it leaking on to his face._

“Come on, let's go. The game's about to start.”

_And for a second, Steve feels like shit despite being perfectly justified._

And with that, he walks away, feeling no better than he did when he received that phone call from his Father that morning.

***

He wasn't scared of his parents. That's not why he was stressing out. That's not why he was scrambling to clean and fix and do his best to make sure there were no mistakes. He wasn't scared of his parents, he was just... just...

A frustrated sound tore free from his lips as he threw down the dish cloth he was cleaning the stove with. 

He wasn't scared or afraid or worried or-or- _fuck._

There was something painful and ugly bubbling up in his chest. It made his screw his eyes shut and his hands to clench. 

He wasn't scared. So why was he stressed about their return? Why did he shy away when they stepped too close? Why did his skin echo with phantom pains from the blows that he _deserved_? He was a bad kid. He was a _failure_ and a _disappointment_ that needed to be _fixed._ So why? Why did-

_Why did their words and looks of disappointment and disgust cut so deep?_

(He's not afraid of them coming home. He's _not_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was it? Did it make sense? My brain was kinda all over the place with ideas. It was actually two times longer but I realised that the second half didn't fit right so I'm going to post it once it's cleaned up a bit.
> 
> I know it's been ages since the last update and I'm terribly sorry to announce that it might be another while until a follow up to this- school consumes all unfortunately.  
> (╥﹏╥)
> 
> But how have all of you been?? I hope you're all happy and healthy! Drink lots of water and eat your veggies! Thank you so much for waiting and thank you even more for reading! 💕


	5. One event after another, there is no break pt.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. My. Gosh. I wrote it. You guys have no idea how much trouble I had with this chapter. Agh!  
> This is so disjointed and its like 70% flashback (which came out of nowhere btw) and 300% longer than I planned but its DONE FINALLY!!!  
> Hahaha it's also past 1.30am and I'm not 100% sure there's no errors since grammar and tenses are all over the place and i'm running on spite and determination XD
> 
> Thank you so much for waiting an reading! I hope you enjoy this chapter but it's Christmas and this is literally just angst so maybe read it later?

His parents are coming home. For the first time in _months_ and there's a familiar weight in his lungs that makes it hard to breathe. There's blood rushing in his ears and a heavy tenseness to his limbs that he can't seem to shake off. _His parents are coming home_ and Steve doesn't know what changed. He doesn't know if things _have_ changed or if it's always been like this and he just forgot the feeling. 

H is _p ar ent s_ a re co min g _ho me_

(And Steve's never stopped to think- to notice and realise that he doesn't really know them at all.)

_There's a lady standing before his bed. He isn't sure what to do. He isn't sure what to say- should he say something? There are plenty of people in white coats that all seem to be called 'Doctor'. Oh, the lady is gone and there's a man instead. He's not sure where he is, he's not sure what the beeping box thing attached to his hand is and he's not sure who these people are._

_There are some recognisable objects but not everything makes sense... there's an oddly shaped thing with long green things coming out of it and red round things at the top. They're pretty. The oddly shaped thing is a colour he doesn't know the name of but he knows the other two. Green for go. Red for blood. He knows those colours. He knows white. The walls here are white. He's seen a lot of it- and black too but that only appears when the lights are off._

_There's this thing on the wall and one of the people called 'Doctor' moves it._

_He can't breathe._

_He doesn't know what that is._

_It's pretty. Prettier than the green and red thing._

_Blue (it's the first thing he registers) He knows blue. There's so much of it behind the thing on the wall and it seems to stretch on forever._

_Blue is important but he can't remember why... oh dear. I supposes this is not good. He's not sure how he got here. Well, he thinks that something happened before he saw the lady. Everything didn't just start now? Right...?_

Steve's revisited this memory more times than he can count. It's like everything started at that moment. With the lady- his Mother, standing before his bed in the hospital. He was _sick_ they said. Sick enough to forget a few things. ( _Sick enough to forget almost everything)_

_He kept seeing the lady after a few days. The food was interesting too and he found he didn't like the shiny stuff in a cup called Jelly. They asked him questions but he didn't understand a lot of the words. There was lots of tests. They also made him go to this big place filled with water- it was to fix his muscles and help them get strong enough to walk out of it- and it was very tiring. But one of the Doctors (he now knows that Doctor was a job, not their name which made sense. It would be confusing to all have the same name) smiled and said he would be running in no time. He'd quite like that, not being pushed about in the wheely chair everywhere._

The sun has set by the time Steve's managed to make the house presentable and he thanks whatever foresight he had to cook and freeze lasagne two days ago so that was out the way. 

_Steven. That's his name. But it doesn't sound right so he tells them. They just say it's because he'd been in a coma and has forgotten a few things. Coma is like a really long sleep._ "Because he was sick." _He hears that a lot. But he still thinks that Steven is the wrong name. It should be something shorter with different letters. He doesn't know why._

_The lady is called Mum and when she comes back again he tells her so. She cries and calls for the man to come and Steven panics because there's water leaving her face and when the old lady in the next room did it, the doctors said she was sad and that it wasn't a good thing. The Nurse (like a doctor but not a doctor?) noticed and said that those were happy tears. Tears could be happy? Oh dear. That was confusing. How was he to tell them apart? The man comes in but Steven doesn't recognise the man. A Doctor says that it's okay and it's a sign that he's getting his memories back._

The clock struck eight and Steve crashed on the sofa, setting an alarm for nine thirty. He could usually stay awake for up to two days at a time but these last twenty four hours seemed so hectic that his nap yesterday after school seemed to do nothing for him. 

_He moves to another hospital after that. The Doctors aren't as nice and the person helping him walk yells more. They do more tests and ask him more questions that he can't remember and don't make sense. There isn't a window in his new room. He liked seeing the sky. There aren't flowers here in a vase either. The Doctors don't answer his questions about the names of objects and instead, they focus on asking him about when he was younger. But he can't_ _remember anything from when he was younger._

Waking up was difficult but he was on a schedule and there wasn't enough time to continue. He'd have to leave in half an hour. 

_When he can finally walk again, they wait a few weeks but he doesn't remember anything else. He knows more objects. He knows the man is his Father. He remembers lots of white and red. There's screaming in his dreams too but he doesn't say_ _anything, worried that if he does, he'll moved to another hospital with not so kind Doctors. Steven wasn't stupid. He knows they moved because he remembered something._

Tapping his hands restlessly, Steve locks the hatch to the attic and hides the key in his underwear draw. After the windows and doors are all shut and the heating is on full blast and Steve takes a moment to stop and breathe. 

_His Father isn't happy. Steve knows that crossing your arms and frowning means you're not happy (but the nice Nurse from the old hospital said that the old man who sometimes came to visit the old lady also frowned but he wasn't angry. He just looked like that. It was confusing) Mum says that they're leaving the hospital now._

_Leaving._

_He didn't know he could leave._

***

They stopped looking at him.

He noticed it quite quickly.

They didn't respond when he called, they turned away from him when he entered a room, then they started leaving more. One day they just didn't come back. With a simple set of instructions and a new lady to take care of him, his first year of middle school coming up and Steve didn't know in that moment, how much things would change- _how much he didn't know._

He called them of course, regularly. They stressed that should he recall anything, anything at all, he should call them (they never said it was important but he knew. They said it too many times for it not to be) but soon, they stopped picking up. He left messages and sometimes found himself waiting by the phone when he felt particularly alone, wishing for it to ring.

He quickly figured out that his Father's calls were like clockwork with one call or two placed at unexpected times. His Mother would call more often to rant about this or that; he wasn't sure why she did this as he never seemed to get a word in otherwise but at least he never forgot her voice.

***

They were like scenes from a nightmare. Half asleep, desperate and frantic to record anything, _anything_ he could from the fleeting dreams that haunted him. He would look at the scraps of paper, ruined canvasses and endless red paint and break just a little more each time. It was kind of pathetic really, just sitting there, on the floor with his head in his hands. But really? What was he but insane? There was no way these were memories. Maybe some sick remembered drug induced hallucinations from when he was younger but _this?_ This was blood against grey concrete. This was the curve of someone's jaw, twisted in pain. This was an abstract twist of colour that Steve felt looked like a scream. 

His parents hardly looked at him and when they did, all he saw was disappointment. So how could he tell them of the broken rememberings of something so clearly messed up? Would they even believe him or send him to some facility like in his first memories? How could he tell anyone and expect them to take it seriously when there was something so clearly _wrong_ with him. 

_"Do you remember anything Steven? Anything at all?"_

_"No, sorry Mother."_

Lying was easy when people thought you couldn't do it. Lying was easy when you pretended you couldn't. 

A small part of him still hopes things could go back to the way they were before... Before Hawkins and his endless nightmares, back to a time he can't even remember because it _must_ have been better than this. 

There's a decade long gap in his memories but that doesn't mean he's forgotten everything and it was these memories that reminded Steve who his parents were.

_His mother sat beside his bed. He wasn't warm, he wasn't cold and the room is oddly empty of anything but large mirror and a door - but that doesn't matter. His mother was there, cupping his face gently telling him **h͡o̡w ͟͟sp҉͡ȩ͘͜c̸͞ia̧̕l͘ ̕͡h̡͠͞e̡̡ ͟͞i͢͝s̕͟** . _

They're hazy and fractured, interrupted by static but they're real- they're something he remembers and Steve holds these memories close to his chest with a jealous possessiveness. 

_His father is standing before him. There are other people there too-ļ͞͞a͝͏b̧͝ ̷̶̡c̡̢ǫ̢͟͡a҉̷t̢̕͞s̛͟͝ ̶̡͡͞͡ą͏͡n͢͞͡d̕͞ ̷̡͜c͢l̡̧͞i̧̛p ̷̢̕b̧̧o̶a̸r̶̸͢d̕s̴̛, and his Fath-Dad is putting a hand on his shoulder telling him he was very proud._

_Bl̷̶͞u͘e͜͠҉ ̡e̡҉y̷es̡̨ ̷̨͜a͢r͠e̕͢͞ mi͝s̸̛͜s҉̧i̡͢͠n͏̵g̨͝-҉ ̛ **S̶̶į̛͢x̛҉** ̶isn͘'̵̸t̴ ͡t̴̵he̵r͏̡e͘҉̛-͡͏ ̡w̷h͢er̵e̸͝ i̡͟s̵ **͏Si͞x̸**?̴̶ ̛͢B̵͘l͡҉̶ue͞ ̛͜Bl̷̵ue͜ ̕B̕lu̷͜e̡̛̕-̶_

And he wants it, he wants that so so desperately that he thinks his heart might break under the weight of it. But Steve knows he's selfish for wanting something he's clearly lost because of something _he did wrong_. He's spent the last five years wishing for them to come home and to treat him like they did when he was a kid because people don't change overnight and something must have happened for him to mess up everything. 

***

_Leaving the hospital was..._ amazing _. The first time they moved, Steven didn't get to see the outside, he was asleep for the whole journey and woke up in a new place with his Mother at the foot of his bed again. But this time... this time, Steven was awake and he could see everything. Miles upon miles of green-blue-brown-gold, flew past the window in infinite variations and Steven felt a small pang of loss at his realisation that he couldn't name or capture all of these colours. _

He didn't know what would happen next, where he would go and what he would do. But the world was so terribly big and for a boy who had seen nothing but the walls of hospitals and the view from a compound window, everything was so alien and incredibly beautiful. 

So maybe it wasn't so strange that he had found love in art, in being able to capture the things he couldn't name, forever preserved on canvass and ink so that he might never forget again. 

***

Sat down on the stairs before the front door, Steve's hands shook with slight tremors and his eyes screwed shut. There was a feeling building up in his chest, making it hard to breathe and Steve didn't know how to stop it. It was building and his eyes stung with sheer force of panic which coursed through his system. 

_His parents are coming home._

And what makes this time so different?

Yes, he dreads the inevitable looks they'll send him for his failures and the possibility of going to school with bruises on his torso but his parents aren't bad parents. They provide him with everything he could possibly need, a house to live in, a school to go to, a crazy amount of money to get whatever he could possibly ever need or want; they're good parents. So why doesn't he want them home?

_(He knows they love him too because that's what parents do.)_

_His Mother's hand is gentle on his cheek as he tries to push himself off the floor._

_"We only do this because we want you to be better. Do you understand this Steven?" Her voice is the warmest its been since they returned home._

_"Y-yes Mum."  
_

_"Good dear, we don't like having to do this but you're a bad child and we only wants what's best. **We love you.** "_

But he isn’t- he isn't sure if he loves them.

And the admission feels like a blow to the stomach.

That feeling that he once felt around them and for them, _that wasn't love_. Because he knows what love feels like. 

He felt a part of it for the Nanny, who despite her cold countenance, was kind, listened and taught him things. He feels it when he thinks of Nancy. It's warm and bright and hurts sometimes but it's like a drug and Steve can't stop. Love is something everyone feels and Steve knows other people love their parents. Guilt blooms ugly in his chest; they've done so much for him and he can't even return the sentiment. 

But... why should he? They're barely ever there and the only calls he's received over the years have been pretty one sided. How can he when he knows that something between them broke a long time ago and he- he doesn't know how to fix it. 

So what he once felt for them, that wasn't love, that was longing maybe? Jealousy perhaps towards the other kids at school whose parents picked them up and cooked them dinner because what did he do that was so terrible that his parents stopped doing that for him? Maybe he's just tired - tired of pushing, of running on empty and doing everything himself. 

Sitting on the stairs to the second floor, Steve robotically slides on his shoes and fixes his appearance.

So he wants them home but dreads their reactions to his failures? He might not love them but wants them around anyway? Steve so desperately wants to explain the conflicting emotions rising in his chest but how can he? How can he decide how he feels when he can't even answer a fucking simple question!

_How exactly does he feel about his parents?_

Steve feels like punching something from the question. He can't deal with this now! Not with Nancy being upset over something that he doesn't know how to fix. Not with Byers' face after he smashed his camera looping over and over in his mind _(He was justified! So why does he feel guilty? Carol always did say he had a bleeding heart.)_

***

Steve figures out something on the highway out of Hawkins and has to pull over from the weight of it. 

_He's scared._

He feels is hands shake by their sides as all the anger, stress and frustration from the day leaks out. Just one feeling filling the gaping cavern in his chest, flooding it with ice and fire. Steve doesn't want to see them again- he doesn't want to see them ever again because every time they're been home, he's been hurt. And more than anything, more than he wanted their love and attention, Steve doesn't want to feel pain again.

_(And maybe he wanted them around because he was just a kid and wanted love and safety- craved reassurance and support when his teachers and friends gave none- and saw that parents were supposed to provide that-_ but Steve never thought of himself as a kid anyway.)

***

It's dark by the time he gets to the airport. The air is cold and he takes a breath deep enough that it pricks the bottom of his lungs with ice. The plane will be landing soon and-

He doesn't want to think about it. 

Running a hand through his hair, Steve watches the small clouds of vapour that quickly dissipate before him, trying to delay the moment when he has to walk towards the pick up point. 

A small humorless laugh escapes him. Yesterday, he would've argued that he wouldn't mind his parents coming home. Now, after another 'realisation' (goodness, he's been having loads of those) he's not so sure. That nauseous feeling that rises from his stomach and makes his chest tighten with panic, couldn't be anything but dread and fear. 

The wait for the plane to land makes his hands itch for a cigarette, something to calm his nerves. A small part of him is thankful that the airport is so far away from Hawkins, as soon as he had driven beyond town limits, that weird oppressive feeling seemed to lift off his shoulders and Steve couldn't deny the relief that washed over him.

A yawn escapes his lips as exhaustion seemed to settle over him. He’d been up for god knows how long, he was able to squeeze in a few hours randomly scattered throughout the school day but the emotional upheaval and physical work, coupled with the stress and having to drive for an hour, plus the knowledge that it would be another hours drive back and his parents would probably want to chew him out for some shit, really didn’t fill him with confidence.

_Maybe... since it was late and they're probably tired, they wouldn't hit him. Afterall, what harm comes with hoping?_

~

His Mother's heels click in perfect tempo against the airport floor. Her luggage trailing behind her and Steve forgot how pristine and stylish she was. She greets him with a false smile and a kiss on the cheek (they're in public after all) before loudly exclaiming how she's "missed" him so so much. 

His Father _\- and Steve is surprised to note that they're nearly the same height-_ is the same as always. A few more grey hairs and a stern, with gruff expression on his face that looks slightly pained at the forces a smile.

Their son smooths back the tension in his shoulders and relaxes his expression. There's a disconcerting undercurrent in the air when he looks at them and he holds back a flinch when his Mother kisses his cheek. Something was off with them and Steve didn't like it. 

~

They're walking out the airport, into the multi tiered, concrete car park and every step Steve takes feels like a march to the gallows. They're behind him, following as he leads them to where the car is parked. _They're behind him_ , and that makes him feel sick. The cool air does nothing to soothe his nerves and there's a unfamiliar-familiar pressure building in his head. There was something wrong with his parents and Steve couldn't figure out what it was. 

~

The car speeds down the highway and Steve can place the exact moment when they re-enter Hawkins. The unsettling fog, which had been screaming at Steve's senses, had been steadily growing in strength the closer they got to home. It was like they passed some invisible barrier, a wall of something unnatural sweeping through him with such unexpected force, that he lost control of the car in that moment. Tires squealing against wet tarmac and the vehicle swerved dangerously close to the crash barrier on their right. 

"Steven!" His Mother screeches in shock as she clutches the grab handle, one hand on her chest.

"What the fuck was that boy?" His Father's face turns twists unpleasantly as he reaches over from the passenger's seat to hit Steve across the back of the head, "Answer me!"

"I'm sorry I-" Steve stutters out, his heart pounding in his chest from the sudden rush of adrenaline and his mind spinning as he tries to become accustomed to the disconcerting wrongness in the air that he swears is stronger than before. 

"There is no excuse for shit driving," And the back of Steve's skull smarts from where he was hit. 

~

As they pull up into their driveway, Steve can no longer take it. Something was _wrong_ with his parents and he had to know _what._ He need to know how close they were to striking so he wouldn't be caught unawares. He steps out of the car and turns to his parents in slight depression. _Something is wrong._ He knows this but it's not just the air or the house. It's the people he _lives with_ and that's dangerous.

_F̸̕͟o͏̨҉c͘͘͟͝͡ư̶s̸̡͜ ̶̶͟͟͝F̶̛i͘͜͠v̵̶̨e̕͜͝_ \- _And everything clicks into place._

Steve isn't sure what happens in the seconds that follow other than he can suddenly _see_ everything. The pressure in his mind snaps like a dam bursting and Steve feels a foreign ( _familiar)_ rush of energy twist dangerously inside him. It was as if the world had slowed down-like everything had suddenly been converted from twenty five frames per second to a thousand.

_Oh dear,_ Steve thinks, _I'm fucked._

***

His Father's hand is clenched slightly tighter than necessary to the handle of his briefcase, the angle of his arm is off and the set of his shoulders is tense. There's a minute constricting of his pupils and an invisible scent of aggression that wraps itself around him like a warning sign. His breaths are seemingly natural of the surface but Steve notices the excess force being release in every exhale. His parents genial facades suddenly becoming more detailed- a small twitch of a small muscle in the face, the slight fraction of the tilt of their heads, the rhythm of their steps- everything is suddenly a tell and Steve doesn't understand everything he's seeing but he knows this; _he's fucked._

He feels his own heartbeat begin to pick up, whatever the fuck that just was, Steve suddenly understands that he's dancing on a wires edge with how close they are to snapping. Fucking anything could set them off at this point and Steve prays that he can keep it together until this blows over.

The pressure behind his eyes begins to fade and Steve feels a small trickle of something run through his nose. Cursing himself as he sniffs automatically, he feels his Mother edge that much closer to the edge. _Fuck,_ He sniffs again, not daring to wipe is nose on his sleeve- _why the fuck did it have to be runny now of all moments?_ \- and Mrs. Harrington pulls a tissue out of her purse and hands it to him quickly. The sheer unexpected amount of contentment he feels at the gesture shocks him slightly ( _when did such small measures of affection become so important to him?_ ) and it's only tempered by the stray thought that she only did this to prevent catching something if he is ill. 

Blowing his nose quickly, Steve notices in the light in the driveway that his tissue is stained red and quickly shoves it in his pocked to hide the evidence ( _evidence for what? It's just a small nose bleed._ )

***

They're sitting at the table with Steve standing on the other side, listening as they lecture him on his grades and his only success in basketball _(he didn't realise they had noticed)_ Maybe he can get into University on a sports scholarship since he's a Harrington and it would be a disgrace to not attend. That's always the answer isn't it? He's a Harrington so therefore he must be the best. He's a Harrington so he can't have a tutor because _Harrington's don't need tutors._ And Steve doesn't know why he even listens to them. They're hardly ever home. They expect the impossible from him. He's stupid and nothing he does ever seems to fix it. No matter how hard he works, he'll never be a straight A student. 

Everything was just getting to be too much. He's had a shitty day, he's tired and he doesn't know what he did wrong to make Nancy upset this morning. Holland is missing and whatever the fuck is crawling under the earth and into his head is making his skin crawl. The fog in his mind just continued to build as emotions rose unwanted through him. Why should they lecture him on his grades? They're never here and all they ever do is criticize his every move. Nothing he ever does is enough. He's useless. A failure. A mistake. 

“Well maybe if you and Mum were around to fucking raise me, I wouldn't be such a disgrace.” 

Steve's mind stalls as the words leave him, every bit of his previous anger draining out of him in a flood of icy terror. 

"What did you say?"

What. The. Fuck. Did he have a death wish or something? Didn't he learn his lesson at fourteen? He was screwed, so fucking screwed. 

"Are you saying this is our fault boy?"

"No- I-" His Fathers hands hit the dining table with a sharp crack and Steve stumbles back a step as he flinches from the sound. 

His Mother looks up from her plate, her grip on her wine glass deceptively light, her face a visage of disgust and that look pierces his heart with pain- more so than his Father's words ever could. 

_He was fourteen, almost fifteen when they came back and Steve was surprised by how much he had grown. Objectively, he knew he had gotten taller but standing before his father made it seem more real. They had called plenty of times during the last few years but Steve was a stupid teenager whose emotions influenced his actions and in this case, his filter._

_Steve understood that he was a little upset that they were gone for so long and missed so much. He lost his temper and complained, he dared to question their judgement and as he cracked under the weight of their expectations for his failing grades, Steve lashed out with a raised voice and bad attitude._

_The last time his Father had hit him, Steve was twelve and that was for asking questions and being annoying. This time, it was abundantly clear what he had done wrong, even as it was spelled out for him._

He was ungrateful. 

_Lying in his bed that evening with every wheezing breath, Steve decided then that there was no reason to be upset. His Father's words had rung true with every blow. He had a great life. There was nothing he should want. T_ _hey gave him everything he needed and all they asked for in return was to remember and fulfill his responsibility as a Harrington and respect those that provided for him._

_There was a knock on his door and Mrs. Harrington walked in quietly, sitting on the edge of her son's bed with her hand just shy of cupping his cheek. She looked at him with a disappointed expression on her face before leaning over and quietly admonishing his behavior._

_"You know we love you Steven." She spoke softy, "We only do this because we know you can be better. Do you understand Steven?"_

They _love_ him, so why can't he love them back?

Guilt floods him at the thought and his earlier words. How could he say such a thing to the people that cared about him? They gave him everything- a home, an education, food and enough money to spend on his art. How could he lash out at the only people who knew how truly despicable he was and only did their best to correct his actions? Who only wanted him to be better. Who _loved him._

_They left two days later with a couple thousand more in his account and a disgusted sneer as a farewell. He saw that expression and knew that he deserved every look. He had failed them. He had lashed out and they only wanted to fix him._

_Guilt ran a thousand circles through his mind, over and over he replayed his words, his Father's lesson and his Mother's expression. Over and over until he realised that the beatings weren't just a lesson- they were a punishment, a price he had to pay for his despicable behavior and bad attitude. For his mistakes._

_That week, when he failed a test that he knew the answers to but his mind was too caught up in his head to focus, Steve went home and refused to eat dinner for the next two evenings. Tommy had once complained about how his parents had sent him to bed without dinner as a punishment (for something the boy thought was unfair). His parents weren't here to teach him. They weren't here to correct and punish his mistakes so Steve decided that it was his **responsibility** to do so in their stead. _

_(But when he kept failing, when he kept making mistakes and being a terrible person, Steve decided there must be something fundamentally wrong with him.)_

There's a glint of light on glass and the wine glass in shattered on the ground before his feet, wine running across the hardwood floor like a poor imitation of blood. And his mind is thrown into another flashback. 

_Something is missing. Like a block in his mind, ever present and ever bothering him. The nightmares weren't going away and all he was left with is terror and white walls to remember them by. His parents aren't looking at him and even though he does not know what, he feels as though he has done something wrong._ _He wants them to look at him. He wants to understand. He wants to know why he can't remember anything because the feeling of something missing was terrible and he wanted it to go away._

_"Why can't I remember?"_

_"What made me sick?"_

_"What school did I used to go to?"_

_"Did we always live in Hawkins?"_

_"Was I the same when I was younger as I am now?"_

_"When did-"_

_There's a sharp pain spreading across his cheek and Steven was surprised find himself suddenly looking away to the side. Turning back to face his father, there's something distinctly terrifying about the expression the older Harrington wears._

_"Enough questions you ungrateful brat."_

_There are no tears in his eyes, no response to the blow other than a dull sort of cold that settles in his chest. As the sting fades to a aching throb, Steven can't help but wonder if it was wrong and why it seemed to familiar._

~

Mr. Harrington is on his feet now, as tall and imposing as ever and Steve feels like he's twelve all over again. As his heart races with adrenaline and his hands shake as he takes him his Father's movements. He'll strike, there's not doubt. He'll strike and Steve will wake up with bruises on his torso and a lingering fear in his bones. And his terror, something clicks in his mind as he suddenly understands a part of what he saw earlier in his Father's stance- a reason for his parents anger. 

"You lost something..." Steve murmurs under his breath in realisation and Mr. Harrington goes still. 

The silence dragged on a second too long and Steve looks up from where his eyes had drifted to the floor. What he sees sends his heart racing faster as he subconsciously prepares for the inevitable blow. There’s a look in his Father's eyes and it screams _dangerdangerdanger._

He's no longer yelling and the quietness of his tone is terrifying. 

“You had something to do with it didn’t you?” 

_What?_ Steve feels bewildered and flat footed from the sudden change in topic. _Weren't they going to say anything about his behavior?_

”What?” Oh fuck. What did he say that out loud?

”Where is it?” His voice suddenly raises and Steve flinches as his Father grabs the front of Steve’s jumper with barely restrained fury. 

”Fuck Dad! What-” Steve's beyond terrified at this point. _What the fuck?_

”Do not lie to me boy!” _What the hell is happening?!_

”Where is Eleven, Steven," His Mother's voice horribly contrasting Mr. Harrington's anger, "You won’t be punished for telling the truth.”

”I don’t- I don’t understand! What-” And he hesitates- 

_It’s dark._

_There’s no other way to describe it. Dark on all sides with floor of water beneath his feet. She’s crying again. Small bony wrists, clutched between thin fingers as she curls into herself.  
_

_“Hey,” He greets quietly._

_It’s not always the same. Sometimes she’s happy, a small pleased smile or her face, the words “Papa proud” on her lips as she points to herself. Steve doesn’t think her Papa is a good man, not if he makes her cry so often._

_This time she doesn’t stop crying, some invisible hurt wracking her body but her sobs calm slightly at his arrival (It’s the injections- his mind supplies- and he’s long stopped questioning the odd thoughts that come into his head while he’s in this place.)_ _He drops to his knees, uncaring of the water, it doesn’t really get them wet for some reason._

_“Hey,” He says again, voice soft as he puts a hand on her shoulder._

_Almost instantly she uncurls, hands reaching out towards him and he... understands. She doesn’t have anyone to share a cage with. She’s alone apart from their meetings in the space between._

_Loneliness hurts. It hurts deep in your chest and wracks your body with a ache that never really leaves, even when you have someone because you know that soon, they’ll leave too and you’ll be back to the way you were before. He understands what it is to be alone. He was alone in his c̶e͡l̨͢l҉͘ ͜a҉̵͜t͠ ̛͠ţhe ̷̵l̷̴͘ą͠b after they moved him from Ḩ͡a̷w̸̕͠k̴̢͜͟į̴̛̛n̶͟͡s̢҉._

_He doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her and she’s small- so so small and that thin hospital gown seems to swallow her with its size._

_“I’ll find you,” he promises, has been promising for some time now. He doesn’t know her name, just like she doesn’t know his. His memories are all fuzzy here but that doesn’t seem to matter. He’ll protect her for as long as he’s able, even if he can only get to her in this dark, empty place._

_She lifts her head from where it’s buried in his side, brown eyes wide and understanding._

_The last thing he remembers is a flash of black ink against pale skin: 011_

_E̵̷̴̷̦͚̹͓̺̥̫͚̻̘ͅl̸̢͈͖͔͖̩̱̯̟̹̬̣̹͇̫̝̗͡e͠҉̧̮̥̫̬̲̘͉̲͈̹̤̜̰͝ͅv̸̛̝̯̼̲̙̘̠̜̯͚͙̺͟ͅȩ̨̼͚͚̣̰͇̮̲̙̫̪͉́ͅn̷̕҉̮̥̻͙͟͝_

  
Steve comes out of the memory almost as quickly as he had entered it. Disorientated, his Father's grip on his clothes being the only thing stopping him from sinking to the floor. He blinks. Eyes clouding with confusion as the memory quickly slips away and Steve futility tries to chase after something that he cannot reach. 

“Steven,” His mother’s voice is soft and seems to waiver slightly with some twisted form of glee. 

“I-” But the memory is long gone and Steve doesn’t recall what he was thinking. 

There's a moment silence before her face falls into bitter disappointment.

"He wasn't involved," And the statement is said without surprise, just resignation. 

”Wasn't involved?” His Father spits out with surprising vitriol as if he no longer cares about whatever it is they think he's done, "He doesn’t remember! After all these fucking years and the _useless shit_ doesn't even remember!"

"They said there was a chance-"

"A chance? This _thing_ is a failure. He's had six years of chances." Steve doesn't have time to correct his footing before he's being shoved to the ground. His head hitting the coffee table with a sickening thud, vision blurring as he struggles to stay conscious. 

_"-ade a fool out of us Maria-"_ And dully he registers the sudden pain on his torso is from being kicked. 

_"-op! Stop! He almos- embered- till chanc-"_

_"-leven- gone- she wa- our chance Mari-"_

This wasn't like the other times. There was always a reason. They always made sure to let him know _exactly_ what he did to make them act this way.

Steve can't stop the tears that slip unwanted onto the floor and there's a pain in his chest that isn't because of any physical injury.

But this time... it isn't about his words earlier or his grades. This is about what _he's forgotten_ and...

_Steve doesn't even know what he did wrong this time._

Everything goes black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve's powers~ can you guess what they are??? (Shout out to Crippler_jericho for picking up a part of his powers without this second half of the chapter!)
> 
> I've always wanted to use corrupt text so I'm so glad I managed to work it in :)))  
> Here's the like to the website I use to change the font if you wanted to use it to: http://www.eeemo.net/
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS PEOPLE! HAVE HAPPY NEW YEAR AND drink lots of water to stay healthy :)


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